Inner (Revised Version)
by California Kat
Summary: Inner is an Eric-POV re-offering of Season 5 of True Blood with an Eric/Sookie endgame in mind. If you have read my other stuff, you know that I'm an unabashed Sookie/Eric fan, so I am going to warp Season 5 toward an E/S HEA, despite any idiocy that happened during the season. (I will be ignoring the happenings of Seasons 6 & 7.)
1. Chapter 1: Cleaning Up

**Inner**

* * *

><p><strong>Beta: Kleannhouse (Many thanks to her!)<br>**

* * *

><p><strong><em>NOTE: You may be familiar with the "old" version of this story. I want to say that I really appreciate everyone who favorited or followed that version. The "old version" will be taken down from this site on Wednesday, 12-17-14 so that I don't get in trouble for posting a duplicate story. I will leave up the story on my WordPress site for longer. (californiakat1564. wordpress. com). I've copied and saved all the reviews I got with that posting of the story, as I do with all my reviews since I'm always worried that they'll get lost. I hope that you will follow this new version and leave your "new" thoughts about it. <em>**

* * *

><p><strong><em><strong>NOTE 2: About two years ago, this story was put on "hiatus" by me; however, it's time to finish it. In fact, a complete version is currently in production! However, before I start posting the new stuff, I will be revising and reposting the "old" chapters. There are many changes (some small and a few bigger) to the chapters, and the POV has been changed to be all first-person. Plus, I've tried to clean up the proofreading errors I found. This story is not beta'd, so any remaining mistakes are mine. <strong>_**

_**I hope that you enjoy the changes to this story. The chapters will be the "old" (but updated) ones until you get to "Paradoxes"-except for a section recounting Pam's turning which comes before that. I'll be posting two chapters today to give us a good start, but after that, I will be posting one chapter a week...on Wednesdays. Once I have the whole thing drafted, I'll try to speed up.**_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Story Summary &amp; Description of the "Rules":<span> **

_Inner_ is an Eric-POV re-offering of Season 5 of _True Blood_ with an Eric/Sookie endgame in mind.

If you have read my other stuff, you know that I'm an unabashed Sookie/Eric pairing person, so I am going to warp Season 5 toward an E/S HEA, despite any idiocy that happened during the season. (I will be ignoring the happenings of Seasons 6 & 7.)

This story is _especially_ for my dear Scorp77/CDB33. (Any puns are especially for her.) Scorp was my initial inspiration for writing this story, as she wanted me to "fix" what we were seeing on the show. And I love a good challenge.

**Here are the rules that I set for myself for this story:**

**_Rule 1:_ I cannot "change" a plot point handed to me by A.B. and his flunkies—like make Tara stay dead/not undead or make Eric not have sex with Nora. ****_Rule 2:_ I have to somehow make use of what I am given to lead toward an E/S endgame…no matter how separated from that idea A.B. and his flunkies went at times. That means, I can "twist" things and "interpret" them as I wish, but I still cannot "change" them.****_Rule 3:_ I can add "deleted scenes" at will—as long as they don't interfere with the overall plot of the show. In other words, if a scene doesn't logically fit, I can't just randomly throw in an Eric/Sookie reconnection or—um—sex scene. ****_Rule 4:_ I _can_ do whatever the heck I want with this story _AFTER_ the season finale, except I cannot have the characters build a time machine to erase what happens—or wake up after having "dreamed" the whole season (can anyone say "Bobby Ewing?").**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Disclaimer:<span>**

I don't own the characters in _True Blood _or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in **bold** so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 01: Cleaning Up<strong>

**ERIC NORTHMAN POV**

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," I said to myself as I flung a particularly nasty piece of Nan Flannigan goop into my trash bag. I briefly looked up from my "speed cleaning" and caught sight of Bill talking to Jessica on the phone.

I shook my head and went back to my task. We didn't fucking have time to have drawn out conversations right now! And that was why I wasn't going to be calling Pam—well, _that_ and because I was fucking pissed off at my progeny right now for trying to kill Sookie with a rocket launcher.

Kids these days!

"Fuck Sookie," I said to myself again. Not half an hour before, she'd rejected me—rejected both Bill _and_ me. I looked up at Bill again, shaking my head. If someone would have told me a week ago that I would have things in common with Bill fucking Compton, I would have doled out the true death to him or her, but _much_ can change in a week's time.

Being more than a thousand years old, I knew about the fickle nature of time better than most beings in the world. I knew that it could progress without real change for a century. I'd languished in the drudgery of endless, mindless routine.

But I also knew that time could speed up and that many changes could happen seemingly all at once, and the previous week had been one of those periods.

Yes—my attitude about Bill Compton _had_ changed, partially because of what we now had in common: Sookie Stackhouse. Both of us loved her—of _that_ I was certain. I knew my own mind, and though I hated having this particular emotion, I was not one to lie to myself. And I could recognize easily that Bill loved Sookie too.

In addition, we had both fallen in love with her "accidentally." Bill had been sent by the insipid bitch-queen, Sophie-Anne—may she rest in many, _many_ pieces. I smiled at my own mental pun as I sprayed a bit of cleaner onto Bill's desk. Bill's orders had been to find out about Sookie and seduce her if she was a good prospect for the queen's little "collection of interesting beings." He was to confirm that Sookie was telepathic and then manipulate her into going to the queen by using glamour. When glamour didn't work, Bill had been ordered to use his blood. When that didn't work as quickly—or as well—as Sophie-Anne wanted, Bill was ordered to make Sookie fall in love with him. But Bill had _accidentally_ fallen in love too.

Falling in love with Sookie had been an accident for me as well. However, falling in _lust_ with her had been purposeful—though, paradoxically, uncontrollable. Hell, with the way Sookie looked, the way she smelled, and the way she defied me, it was fucking inevitable!

But falling in love with her had _not_ been part of the plan.

However, if I were honest, my love for her had been coming on for a while now. And that fact just pissed me off even more!

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," I thought to myself yet again.

That fucking slap in the basement of Fangtasia had probably been the first thing that had started to change my lust into something different—something _more_. Of course, getting my blood into her in Dallas hadn't helped matters. Even now, I fucking adored the feeling of my blood travelling through her body.

I closed my eyes and savored the feeling as I flung more Nan parts into the trash.

_Yes_—I fucking loved the feeling of my blood in Sookie. Even now, it was moving inside of her, telling me where she was and what she was feeling.

I knew that she'd stopped at her Gran's grave before traveling home. I knew that she was heartbroken.

"Fuck Sookie," I said once more. She fucking deserved to be heartbroken!

She had _made_ me love her! _She'd_ been the one to look both so fucking strong _and_ so frightened in the Fellowship Church in Dallas. _She'd_ been the one who put aside her revulsion in mere moments to suck silver from me when she'd thought I was dying. _She'd_ been the one to take my hand and send me her concern on the morning that Godric had met the sun. How she'd affected me so much that morning after taking just a bit of my blood was still a fucking mystery to me.

Yes—it was all _her_ fault! _She'd_ cried in my bar after Bill had gone missing. And that was just one night after _she'd_ stood defiantly in front of me in the basement of Fangtasia as I'd stood naked before her. She'd _never_ been afraid of me—though I'd tried to make her that way many times. But no—Sookie Stackhouse wouldn't fucking cooperate!

And then she'd disappeared for a whole fucking year! And I'd been left with an empty feeling.

Not quite love—not then—but close.

But she just _had_ to fucking come back! Of course, I'd wanted her to come back—badly. But at the same time, things would have been easier if she'd just stayed in the fairy realm.

I shook my head and picked up another trash bag to toss in what was left of one of the gay storm trooper's heads.

"Fuck her," I said to myself once more.

When she'd come back, life had been breathed into me again. But she had also pissed me off!

I'd bought her house and fixed it up, but did I get a thank you? Not from Sookie Stackhouse.

Where were her supposedly legendary Southern manners then?

_Everyone_ else, including her precious Bill Compton, had given up on her, but did she show any fucking appreciation to me? No—not Sookie Stackhouse.

She'd once more denied and defied me. And it had once more made me want her even more.

Yes—Sookie Stackhouse had been a battering ram against all of the barricades I'd placed around my undead heart for as long as I could fucking remember.

And when the necromancer had taken away my memories—well—that was when all those barricades were brought down. And I both loved and hated Sookie for being there when they fell.

I looked up at Bill again and dragged the back of my gloved hand across my forehead. My erstwhile king was _still_ on the fucking phone, and Eric Northman was no one's fucking maid! Sure—the Nan mess had to be dealt with, but I didn't want to do it a-fucking-lone!

I glared at Bill pointedly. **"How about rapping it up? I could use a hand here."**

Bill almost rolled his eyes as he hung up, but then picked up a pair of gloves and dug into the blood stains on the carpet.

I sighed and continued cleaning Nan off the walls.

Strangely enough, despite his annoyingly long phone conversion, I didn't mind Bill right then—at least, not so much. The Civil War veteran had proven himself a decent strategist during the necromancer episode, and we'd teamed up to fight her together and to save Sookie's life.

"Fuck Sookie," I said to myself. I didn't even want to think about how close she'd come to dying!

I, once again, raised the back of my hand to get my bangs out of my face; they were beginning to fall because of the activity of the night. However, Sookie loved running her fingers through them, so I didn't want to cut them.

"Fuck Sookie," I thought yet again, this time with a growl.

Bill and I had even more in common after tonight. We had both been _rejected_ by Sookie, and we'd teamed up again to end Nan. Sure—we'd also done it because she was going to kill us too. But there were maneuvers that could have been made to ally ourselves with Nan since she'd been "fired" by the Authority.

Yes—we could have, perhaps, avoided killing Nan. But she knew about Sookie. Neither Bill nor I had needed to speak to each other to know what we were going to do. It had been an easy choice for both of us. Kill Nan and make sure that Sookie's abilities remained a secret.

Bill and I had made a good team—_again_.

Surprisingly.

I knew that I should have hated Bill—hated him because he was competition for Sookie's affections—because Sookie loved him. But I couldn't bring myself to hate Bill.

It was—as it turned out—pretty fucking hard to hate someone who had saved your life. Sure—Bill had reported my amnesia to the Authority to begin with and had, therefore, been the reason behind their death sentence for me. But I couldn't really blame him. I would have done the same thing.

Except that I would have killed Bill.

But Bill _hadn't_ killed me.

In my state of amnesia, I had been willing to let my monarch take my life with no struggle. Hell, Bill's ceremonial stake had been poised. My last requests had been made. But Bill had _not_ killed me. Bill had acted with honor and had let me go—even though he knew that I was going to go straight to Sookie. To the woman he loved too.

Bill had proven himself _not_ to be petty. And I wasn't about to be shown up by him!

I'd been taught better by both my human father and my vampire father.

Plus, truth be told, _none_ of this was Bill's fault. It was _Sookie_ who should have made a fucking choice between Bill and myself—rather than chicken shit her way out of the responsibility. I understood that she loved us both and was confused by her conflicting emotions. I'd been beaten down by that knowledge, but I _had_ understood. However, Bill had gotten his fucking chance!

Had Sookie given me a chance? _No_. Not a legitimate one. Once I'd gotten my memories back, she'd just _assumed_ that I couldn't or wouldn't love her. Or maybe she thought I wasn't "good" enough. If that was the case, then she was fucking delusional! I was a Viking prince, the son of Godric, and a vampire sheriff. Plus, I fucking loved her! Those things made me fucking good enough!

And if Sookie couldn't see that I was the better man for her—better than Bill—then fuck Sookie!

I joined Bill on the floor to scrub the carpet.

Yes—I had come to like Bill, at least _almost_. I couldn't blame my "king" for wanting Sookie. It proved he had _good taste_. I almost laughed at my horrible pun, but when I discovered that I had some Nan hair in my own hair, I scowled and plucked it out. I needed a fucking shower—posthaste!

However, I kept scrubbing—trying to scrub the sound of Sookie's rejection away from my memory—my _perfect_ memory.

Sookie Stackhouse was a fucking coward. What we had shared—the _profound_ love—was there for the taking, but she had walked away from it. I closed my eyes as I leaned my weight into eradicating the vampire remains from the carpet.

I had wanted to give Sookie the world—to give her _my_ world—but she'd rejected me. And, in addition to my pain, I had to feel _her_ pain. I had to remember her stricken face as she'd left me.

None of that was Bill's fault. Bill was _never_ real competition for me, and if he was—well—then Sookie wasn't making the right choice for _herself_.

Sure Bill had a _kind_ of power. He was a king, after all. Well―at least he had been until this night. And he was "nice" enough. But I knew he wasn't the best choice of mate for Sookie, and I even liked the guy—_almost_.

Yes—Bill had _seemingly_ held onto more of his humanity than I had, which might have attracted Sookie more at first. But with that humanity, Bill had also held onto his propensity to lie in order to "protect" Sookie in some kind of misguided and slightly misogynistic fashion—which he labelled as chivalry. And that was _not_ something Sookie would ever want.

Sure, I had lied to and manipulated Sookie—a little—but I'd owned up to it, and I'd _never_ fucking patronized her. And Bill had. And he would again. Bill _wasn't_ the man for Sookie; I knew that just as I knew that a mixture of vinegar and ammonia was the best way to get blood out of carpet without leaving the scent behind.

I _knew_ who was the right man for Sookie—the right partner. It was me.

And she would be the right partner for me as well—if she could simply give us a chance.

"Fuck Sookie," I thought again. "Fuck her for making me love her."

I shook my head and went for some more cleaning towels. Did she even deserve me—especially given her wishy-washy ways?

I sighed. I knew that question didn't fucking matter. Deserve me or not―love me or not—she _had_ me.

I just didn't have her.

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," I thought.

To make things even more impossible, I knew in my gut that she _did_ deserve me—just had I sure as fuck deserved her! She was fire itself. She was heat. She was the fucking sun. She'd saved my life—more than once. She'd stood up to me—more than once. She'd been there during the darkest hour of my life—when Godric had chosen to end himself—and she'd not even flinched.

She'd also been there when I was at my most vulnerable—when I didn't even know my own fucking name. _Again_, she'd not flinched. She'd simply fallen in love with me.

And I'd fucking loved her back. I _still_ loved her.

I sprayed and scrubbed at vampire speed, even as I continued to think at the same fast rate.

She _had_ _chosen_ me in the cubby when we'd exchanged blood—or at least chosen the version of me with amnesia. But when I'd gotten my memories back, she'd turned from me. I _knew_ that she'd had more of Bill's blood by then; thus, I knew _rationally_ that the fresh infusion was enough to cause her confusion.

But I didn't want to think rationally—not when my feelings were anything but.

I sighed as I scrubbed. Sookie had to be frightened by the power of what was between us. I sure as fuck was, and I was a thousand years old!

Hell—I'd never heard of a vampire and a fairy sharing a "blood fantasy" together. Humans could share V-trips, but what Sookie and I had experienced after our exchange had been different.

Totally unique—like the woman herself.

Maybe if I bided my time, she would return to me. After all, what we had—the bond that we had begun—was strong. Given the fact that it was only one-third of the way to complete, it was overwhelmingly strong, and it took all of my effort not to let it dictate everything I did.

But I wasn't about to use our bond to _make_ her choose me—not that I even could. Her fairy blood seemed to counter most of the things that vampires could do. We couldn't glamour her. We couldn't really influence her with our blood either—except for a spattering of dreams, which we weren't really even in control of.

I knew that firsthand.

And I wouldn't try to control her anyway. It was sometimes tempting, but I _wouldn't_. I wanted her to come to me.

Because I fucking loved her—_respected_ her.

"Fuck Sookie," I thought again.

I closed my eyes. Yes—that was _exactly_ what I wanted to be doing: fucking Sookie. She had felt like Valhalla to me. She'd been warm around me, almost uncomfortably so. But it was such sweet discomfort. Our first time in the woods had been a wonderful exploration, and I'd been unable to take my hands or mouth or eyes off of her, even as I'd buried myself into her again and again and again.

That night in her home—no _our_ home—we had continued fucking. Actually, that wasn't true. I'd _never_ simply fucked her—at least not like I was used to thinking about "fucking." I didn't like the pedestrian phrase, "making love," but I knew that _that_ was exactly what we'd been doing.

Together.

Yes—we had _made_ something that night. Maybe it was a foundation. Maybe it was a time of transcendence. But it had _definitely_ been love.

And then after we'd formed the first leg of a bond—a bond that could become permanent with two more exchanges—we'd been truly transported.

Sex with Sookie was—simply put—the best sex I'd ever had, and I'd had _a lot_ of sex. I also knew _why_ it had been the best. I'd not held back any essential part of myself from her. Even with my memories gone, I had given her everything. And she'd returned _herself_—fully.

But then—later—she'd panicked and left me.

"Fuck Sookie," I thought.

I _felt_ her clearly, even in that moment. She was driving home from the cemetery. That thought comforted me a little. It wouldn't do at all for her car to be so near to Bill's home when the Authority sent more people for Bill and me. It had been bad enough that she had still been close by when Nan was there.

It had been only thirty-four minutes since Bill and I killed Nan, but a much larger force from the Authority would come by the next night, which was why Bill and I needed to clean up and to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Since the potential problem of Nan's spilling Sookie's secrets was now tied-up in trash bags, Sookie would be safe enough as long as she stayed away from vampires, which I knew that she would now. I supposed that was the one good thing about her rejecting both Bill and me.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I felt her arrive home—arrived at what I'd been thinking of as _our_ home.

"Fuck Sookie," I thought as I pushed aside the ache she'd created inside of me.

I looked down and saw that I'd been scrubbing the same spot until the carpet was almost threadbare.

I shook my head to clear it. I needed to stop thinking about Sookie. She'd made her position clear. She didn't want me. And she obviously didn't want the potential of what we could be together, so fuck her!

Suddenly, I felt a spike in her fear, and Bill looked toward the front door, where I was automatically looking too.

"Sookie," Bill said aloud.

**"Fuck Sookie!"** I said for the hundredth time that night, but this time, I said it out loud.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: _Thank you for reading. I hope you will share your thoughts.  
><em>**

**Kat **


	2. Chapter 2: Silver

****Disclaimer: ****I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 02: Silver<strong>

For a moment, Bill looked at me as if I were crazy.

I almost rolled my eyes as my mind clicked into high gear again. Where was fucking male solidarity when you needed it? I was having a hard enough time not rushing to Sookie. If Bill went, then I knew I'd be unable to hold onto my resolve and resist the urge to follow.

Sure—Sookie was scared and likely in a perilous situation, but that happened almost every fucking night! Or at least every one since she'd had my blood. If it wasn't a Maenad, it was a serial killer. If it wasn't a V-crazed Were, it was a 3,000-year-old vampire. If it wasn't a necromancer, it was a fairy. I knew that I'd played a part in Sookie's involvement with the witch and Russell, but I also knew that she _would_ have found her way into trouble without my help.

She _always_ did.

Hell! She'd been the one to walk into a vampire bar in a dress that screamed out, "I'm dinner! Come eat me!"

And it hadn't been Bill Compton who had kept the other vampires from trying to glamour and staking their claim on Sookie that night. Hell—there had been four vampires older than Bill in Fangtasia when Sookie had first entered its doors—_excluding_ myself—and all of them had been sniffing at the little ray of sunshine which had invaded the dark. No—it had been my own interest in her and a well-timed growl or two that had kept the hordes away from the sweet-smelling Southern Belle. Yes—if that night wasn't an illustration of how Sookie Stackhouse unknowingly courted danger, I didn't know what was.

And now? Now that she'd made her feelings known to me? I would just have to get used to Sookie finding danger. Fuck! A hangnail on her would likely be the catalyst to a supernatural situation.

Of course, that didn't alleviate my apprehension at Sookie's fear, which I could still feel as clear as a fucking bell—and a loud one at that! In fact, the thought of Sookie being in danger made my blood boil and my heart ache, but I couldn't run to her every time she was in peril!

If I did, I'd have to stay by her side _always_ because she was _always_ in some kind of trouble or another. And though her side was _exactly_ where I wanted to be, I had to remind myself—again—that she had made her position on the matter painfully clear. Plus, when it all came down to it, I trusted Sookie—not with my heart, but in saving her own skin.

Yes—I trusted her self-preservation skills. She'd managed to survive every peril she'd ever faced—and most of them without my help. The two Sookie Stackhouses—the clever human and the fiery fairy—had always made a formidable duo and had somehow defeated _everything_ that had come at them.

The serial killer? Sookie had killed him in self-defense. Bill had rushed into the sun to "rescue" her—only causing more problems rather than helping—in my opinion. I almost scoffed out loud as I tried to imagine what Bill had been thinking. Crispy vampire did _not_ a savior make!

In the same situation, I would have been practical; I would have made some calls on my fucking cell phone in order to get Sookie some help that really _could_ help! Of course, I would have lived in torment until the sun dropped enough for me to safely go to her, but I wouldn't have added my burning body to the shit-storm she was already dealing with.

Burning vampire—besides being uttering useless—smelled fucking atrocious!

But—oh well—Bill was still young and impulsive where Sookie was concerned. I was also somewhat impulsive about her, but I was also smart enough never to run into the fucking sun in some misguided heroic attempt. Perhaps Bill had been trying to become a martyr that day; whatever the case, his actions had been idiocy. More to the point, Bill _should_ have trusted that Sookie would scrape her way out of the situation. Sure—she'd gotten banged up and had needed the shifter's help, but it had been my fiery fairy-human who had done the deed and killed the killer.

Well—she wasn't _mine_. But the salient point remained. Both Sookie's were survivors.

At the Fellowship Church? Well—it wasn't Sookie who had gotten herself strapped down on an altar about to be sacrificed to the fucking sun. Nope—that would be me, and she was the one who had pulled the chains off of me! That night had shown me both her vulnerability and her strength. She was almost raped; she would have been if Godric hadn't intervened. But she didn't fall apart. She kept right on fighting and defying me—not even letting me kill a couple of redneck dumbasses with stakes.

She'd been fucking magnificent!

The bombing? Sure—I'd had to save her life by putting myself between her and the blast. She was too close to the bomb to survive its impact, after all. But, on the other hand, she'd bounced right back and had been willing to save my life in the next minute.

She'd sucked silver out of my body! _Twice_!

De-fucking-licious!

The Maenad? Well—because Bill had _again_ acted without thought and had fed her his blood after she'd been scratched, Sookie had needed supernatural healing, and I had arranged for Ludwig to come. But, not a week later, Sookie had been partially responsible for the Maenad's demise. Bill and Sam had played their parts too, but Sookie was no shrinking violet in the situation.

Russell? Well—Sookie managed herself beautifully in that situation too. She'd saved my life—_twice_—within the space of a couple of minutes: first by dragging my ass inside so that I wouldn't keep crisping up and second by giving me her blood.

The fairies? Sure—she'd gone with them when she _should_ have thought better of it, but she'd also found her way back, and she'd refused Claudine's manipulative "invitation" to return to the fairy realm. During the day that she'd stayed with me in the cubby―as I'd been chained in silver—she'd told me a great many things to keep my mind off of my pain. One of those things had been about her experiences in the fairy world. She'd told me about sending their queen, Mab, flying onto her ass. It seemed to me from the way that Sookie had described things that this Mab was probably a powerful fairy, but Sookie had still managed to escape from her clutches. She'd lost her grandfather that day too, but by that night, she had stood her ground with me—as she always did. She was strong. And I was pretty fucking proud of her for all of it—though she'd seemed a bit embarrassed by her capabilities.

The witch? Well—Sookie had managed to get herself out of that situation too. It certainly hadn't been me who had saved her. I was stuck outside of the fucking store! In fact, the very next night, it had been Sookie who had saved me ass from the necromancer. Burning at the stake―instead of getting staked—would have been an ironic death. Even I could appreciate the "joke" that my demise would have generated. But it hadn't been shaping up to be a pleasant death. Indeed, it had hurt like hell to feel the flames licking at my feet! However, Sookie had kicked some necromancer ass—in the form of her friend, Lafayette—that night. Gods—I'd loved watching her work. Again—magnificent!

And frustrating!

Fucking confounding!

In truth, I both hated and loved her, even as I continued to feel her fear and apprehension. I wanted to run to her—to return the favor by saving _her_ life this time. But I kept still; I _had_ _to_ trust her, or I would never be able to disentangle myself from her. And she didn't want me—not now, at least.

And I had to respect that—or I didn't respect _her_.

Yes. Especially with "fairy Sookie" coming more and more into prominence lately—ever since we'd bonded, in fact—I needed to trust that she could find her way out of the trouble that would _always_ find her. I would help as I could—but from the sidelines—by trying to keep her existence a secret. That was why I was cleaning up Nan chunks even then, after all.

But if I were not going to glue myself to her side—which was, I had to keep reminding myself again and again, _not_ something she wanted—then I needed to keep my knees on the floor and keep scrubbing. So that is exactly what I did.

In the moments that I was processing all this information in my thousand-year-old vampire mind, Bill was giving me a look that indicated that he was not going to be staying put, but I _needed_ Bill to stay the fuck put!

"**What? Did you not hear her tonight? She rejected both of us,"** I reminded, pissed off that I had to remind Bill of this fact and even more pissed off that I also still wanted to go to Sookie too.

I also reminded Bill—_and_ myself—that we needed to keep busy. After all, it was the Authority that we were up against now! And I didn't know of any vampire who had ever survived a face-off with them. But I fucking intended to be the first. And Bill really ought to tag along.

For a moment, it looked like my "monarch" was listening to me, but then, we heard a gunshot. Almost immediately thereafter, I felt another spike in Sookie's emotions; this time it was intense sorrow.

Even as the gunshot echoed through the night, Bill was out of the door like a jet, but I paused, immobilized by the pain of Sookie's emotions for a moment. I'd never had a bond with a human before—not in a thousand years—and now I knew why. _It fucking hurt!_

To make things even "better," I heard the tell-tale thump of a silver net being shot and the sizzle of flesh I could only assume was Bill's.

"**They're already here,"** I said, knowing that the Authority's goons had already amassed outside.

I thought for a moment.

A silver net was actually pretty good fucking news and gave me a couple of options, which I analyzed in the blink of an eye.

One: I could try to escape. But my nose picked up vampires and humans closing in on all sides of the house now. And where would I go if I did make it out of there? Not to Fangtasia. Pam had pissed me off, but I wouldn't endanger her by leading the storm troopers there. To my home? No. The location of that was too publically known. To Sookie's? Hell no! That was _not_ happening!

The bond had moved from fear to cold resolve to grief, but I knew she was at least _physically_ safe—at least for the moment. That would all change if I went to her; I'd lead the Authority goons to her door. And I _wouldn't_ do that.

Two: I could fight. And, in truth, I was itching for one of those. The Marnie/Antonia situation had already made me want to take out some aggression. And Sookie's rejection had made me want to kill anything in sight, and the gay storm troopers from earlier had _not_ sated my desire for blood.

I wanted more! A lot more.

However, as I inhaled, I discerned at least twenty vampires— obviously more storm troopers―and they would all be carrying guns with wooden bullets. Outrunning twenty firing guns would be damned near impossible, even for me. And then there were the Authority's special agents to worry about. And they were bound to be much more lethal than the "grunts." Hell! There might even be a chancellor or two in the mix! I _wouldn't_ be able to win in a fight. I knew it.

And I also knew my Sun Tzu—_well_. "He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot, will be victorious."

Three: I could run out of the door like a fucking idiot and get myself captured—just as Bill had. That would get me a silver net, but at least I knew _that_ was what they were firing first.

Nets. Not guns.

If I fought, I would die. If I was captured, I'd be taken to the Authority, where I'd likely be tortured and then die. But I would have more time to think of a plan along the way.

At least with that option, I might live to fight another night, and I'd draw my enemies away from Bon Temps, which also meant that I'd be drawing them away from the woman whom my heart was telling me to go to, so that I could alleviate her now almost unbearable grief. Gods—I wanted to hold her, to comfort her! My body was screaming to be with her, even as my mind was telling me that I _had_ to stay away from her.

For my sanity. And for her sake.

No—I couldn't go to Sookie. She didn't want a partnership with me. And—most importantly—I wouldn't risk her being found by the Authority. Despite any outward devotion to mainstreaming the Guardian professed, I knew that he would see Sookie as simply a tool for blood, sex, and telepathy. I could honestly admit that I, too, loved all of those aspects about Sookie—_coveted_ those aspects.

But the Authority would simply take them. And its members would not be shy about passing her around. I had no illusions. They would not concern themselves with how she ended up after they had tired of her. They would leave Sookie broken—if not dead—and they _would_ snuff out the light in her that I loved so fucking much.

So—in the end—there was really no choice. I could fight and almost certainly die. If I did get away, the Authority would go after everyone and everything I cared for, including Pam and Sookie. Or I could let myself be captured and hope that the Authority only shot a silver net at me, rather than wooden bullets.

My decision clear, I got to my feet, shed my blue gloves (I had some dignity, after all), and ran out of the door like an idiot. Hopefully, I would make a good show of this; after all, what kind of a dumbass would immediately follow when he'd just heard his king be entrapped by a silver net?

Me? Not usually.

Thwap!

Yep. That silver net burned like a son of a bitch—just as I knew it would.

And then—_just lovely_—I was thrown into a car trunk with Bill. Well, at least we had been placed so that I was the "spooner" rather than the "spoon-ee" in the situation. That was something.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for everyone who's reading this again! I appreciate all the support and comments!**

**Kat**


	3. Chapter 3: The Trunk

****Disclaimer: ****I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: The Trunk<strong>

"**We'll take it from here. And don't return to the Authority—until everything's been cleaned up! Every single drop,"** an authoritative voice said; I assumed he was speaking to the captain of the storm troopers.

Interesting. We wouldn't have an escort. That meant that the vampires, whose car Bill and I had been stowed inside, were either very arrogant—or very lethal. I was hoping for the former.

Right as Authority flunky #1 closed the trunk lid, I thought I saw a head—more accurately, the _back_ of a head—one that I recognized.

Nora?

I contemplated for a moment. Could that really have been her, or was it just wishful thinking on my part? It was _possible_ that it was her, given her position in the Authority, but I'd thought that she was in England.

In fact, the last time I'd spoken with Nora had been via phone—the day after Godric had died. And our maker hadn't seen her for almost seventy years. Her position as a Chancellor of the Authority had demanded both her time and her severing of all ties with others.

Still—that _glimpse_ seemed to move like her. I inhaled deeply, trying to catch a whiff of her subtle, though distinctive, scent—to see if I was right. But all I caught was the putrid smell of burnt Bill. So I stopped my sniffer immediately.

Thank the gods I didn't have to breathe! Burnt Bill smelled worse than regular Bill!

I listened as two car doors slammed, and then the vehicle took off. That was a good thing actually. It meant that there were only two beings in the car with Bill and me. Of course, the silver netting had been left around us, though it had been mighty considerate of Authority flunky #1 not to lay it directly against our skin. There was more silver netting on the floor of the trunk, so that would thwart Bill and me from leaving the car by breaking through our small—_very_ fucking small—"holding cell"; however, the odds were more in our favor now than they had been two minutes before, and I was nothing if not opportunistic.

The car turned sharply onto the main highway, causing Bill to roll into the silver a little. I could hear him sizzling, and he drew back from the silver quickly. He ended up pressed tightly against my body.

"Uh―Bill," I started.

"Yeah?" Bill answered, obviously still in pain from the silver.

"You need a hug?" I smirked.

"What? No!" Bill yelled out.

"A fuck then?" My tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"What?" Bill asked again—this time with shock in his tone. "No!"

"Excellent," I intoned. "Then don't cozy up to 'little Eric.' He tends to make himself _known_ when an ass is shoved up next to him—even if it's an ass he's not particularly anxious to fuck." I chuckled. "No offense."

Bill quickly shot away from my not so little "companion" as much as he could without touching the silver netting. "None taken."

I decided to have a moment of fun at Compton's expense. After all, there wasn't much else to be done in the trunk of a car as one was speeding toward certain torture and likely death.

I brought my hand up to Bill's shoulder and spoke in my most seductive tone. "Unless you _meant_ to tease me, your majesty. Could it be that _I _am your last request before you meet the true death?"

"I hardly think, Eric . . . ," Bill began with a stammer.

I blew gently into Bill's ear. "Don't think, Bill," I purred. "Why not just _feel_? We may never have another chance like this."

"Eric!" Bill yelled as he pushed his own body into the silver to get further away from me. "Your attentions are quite—uh—undesired!"

I couldn't hold in my laughter anymore. And I backed off from Bill so that the Civil War veteran could move away from the silver again.

Bill looked over his shoulder to see the amused look on my face. "You were just . . . ," he stammered.

"Fucking with you?" I finished Bill's sentence with a wry chuckle. "Yes—but _not_ _literally_." I quirked a brow. "Again, no offense. You're just not my type."

"Good!" Bill said as he continued to try to compose himself.

I contemplated for a moment. "However, after you brought down a matching robe for me to wear earlier, I _have_ to wonder if you don't harbor some kind of," I paused, "_desire_ for me. You are curious about Vikings?" I asked, letting my accent come through. "You wish to test my pillaging skills?" I asked in my most seductive tone, barely holding in my laughter.

My erstwhile king stammered again. "I—uh—just happen to—uh—have several of that same robe!" he insisted in his own defense. "Feedings can get a bit messy, and the laundry service . . . ," his voice trailed off as I laughed behind him.

"You fucking ass hole!" Bill intoned agitatedly.

"No thanks," I deadpanned. "Again, you're just not my type, Bill. I don't care to fuck your asshole at all."

Bill sighed dramatically. "You are what? Twelve years old?"

"Give or take a thousand," I chuckled. "_Still_, I was initially quite—um—_disturbed_ by those matching robes. Thankfully the one I was wearing wasn't quite my size, so I knew you weren't harboring some kind of fetish—not that a fetish or two is a bad thing."

"No," Bill said, chuckling in obvious relief that my flirting had been disingenuous. "I have no desire to court you with loungewear, Eric."

I laughed heartily. "That _is_ a comfort."

We were quiet for a few minutes.

Finally Bill broke the silence. He spoke in a quiet voice, barely a whisper, "Do you still feel her? She is becoming," he paused, "faint to me."

"Yes," I sighed, also speaking in barely a whisper. "She's still there. She is sad, but she is also resolved. Pam is there now too, so no harm will be coming to her tonight."

"But Pam is the one who fired a rocket at her," Bill observed skeptically.

"True," I relented. "But if I know my progeny, she will be trying to make up for that fact—so that I will forgive her and buy her something expensive."

Bill chuckled, but then grew serious again. "So she's alright then?" he probed.

"Yes—there is no more fear," I confirmed quietly.

"You made a bond with her?" Bill asked, his voice now even lower in volume.

"Yes," I verified. "The beginning of one.

"She consented?"

"We _both_ chose it," I said in almost silent fervor, "when I had amnesia."

Bill nodded in understanding.

"I do _not_ regret it," I added, feeling the need to make him understand that much—if nothing else. Hell—maybe I just wanted to share that fact out loud.

I didn't regret the bond. I loved it.

He gave me a half-nod and a smile.

"However, I never got the opportunity to explain the bond to Sookie," I shared. "And—obviously—it is now a moot point."

"I'm sorry," Bill said.

"What for?" I asked, legitimately mystified by what Bill could have to be sorry about. After all, I couldn't blame him for loving Sookie—for still wanting her.

"I am sorry for giving her my blood again. She was _yours_―I could sense that—but she was also dying of a gunshot wound, and it was _my_ fault," Bill said in a tortured voice.

"How's that?" I asked, trying to hold in my snarl.

Bill sighed. "One of my guards became confused during the fight and thought that Sookie was one of the witches after she used her light power," he said contritely. "He shot her." His voice grew cold. "He did not live out the night. I made sure of that."

I was silent for a few moments. I couldn't really blame Bill for his guard's error. Such mistakes happened in the midst of battles. I recalled a time from my human days when I was fighting at night, swung my axe, and accidentally brained one of my own men—a friend of mine and a new father. It was war, and I had not meant to kill my friend, but I had still felt guilt for it. I could sense that same feeling from Bill now.

"If it makes you feel any better," Bill reported, "Sookie did _not_ want to take my blood at first. She was unconscious, but she still rejected it. I had to try _several_ times before she took it. Herveaux can attest to this."

I contemplated the information. It did make me feel better, but I didn't admit that to Bill. We were not _that_ good of bosom buddies.

"It does not matter now," I said through pursed lips. "The infusion of your blood may have confused her, but let's face it, she was _never_ one to be ruled by our influence. Her choice was her own."

"Still—," Bill said in a tone that was actually sorry without being pitying, "her leaving—it must have been even more difficult for you since you'd bonded with her."

"Yes," I answered simply.

There were a few minutes of silence between us as the car continued to carry us to our fate.

"I _still_ want her, you know," Bill said.

"So do I," I barely sounded, though Bill could surely hear me. "But she wants _neither_ of us, and now it is immaterial anyway. You and I will likely be dead soon."

"True," Bill agreed.

"But if I die, I will admit that _hers_ will be the face that I will cling to as I go to my final death," I acknowledged, quietly.

"Agreed," Bill said. He sighed and then lightened his tone. "It is too bad that neither one of us is capable of sharing."

I chuckled. "Nor is she."

Bill nodded. "What do you think will happen?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? I still have a few friends in high places."

* * *

><p>I <em>did<em> have friends in high places, and seeing the back of that brunette head reminded me of one of the most important: Nora.

Nora was my vampire sister, though I was almost certain that no one in the Authority knew that. They all guarded the identities of their makers and progeny closely so that nothing or no one could be held against them. Plus, part of the ritual of joining the Authority was severing the bonds to one's maker—through magic—so that he or she could no longer command the member to do anything.

Nora was younger than I was by almost half a millennium. At my request, Godric had turned her in England in 1665. She'd been one of Charles II's mistresses, but she'd also been a healer at heart, and she'd defied the king by trying to help those infected with the Black Plague. She'd caught it. At the time, I'd admired her spirit, but I'd not felt pulled to turn her; thus, I'd asked Godric to give her immortality.

He'd done it for me. But he'd also wanted a new child, for—by then—I was venturing out on my own more and more. And, most importantly, he'd felt "the pull" towards Nora.

After Nora's turning, I'd stayed in England, while Godric had taken his new child away from her homeland in order to help her to adjust to her new life. Thus, I hadn't seen Nora again until about thirty years later when Godric and Nora had been traveling in Asia. I happened to be there as well—learning new techniques of the sword from Chow's maker, Kenshin.

As I'd gotten to know my "sister," we had become quite close. It wasn't just that we'd had sex either. Of course, we _had_. She was beautiful, and I was a vampire, after all, and vampires loved sex.

No. We had behaved mostly like siblings from the word "go," squabbling to the point that Godric had soon—and often—ordered us to different countries. And then to different continents.

We'd _never_ been able to stay around each other for more than a week or two without a big dust-up, but that week or two had often been full of some lovely fucking. In addition, we'd had a lot of fun together. And, despite our squabbles, I trusted her with my life, and I could count how many humans and vampires I'd truly trusted over my long lifetime on one hand. And I had my thumb left over.

Strangely enough, the vampire lying next to me in the trunk _might_ be added to that short list soon. Bill had saved my life even though it would have likely benefitted him to see me dead. More importantly, I felt that Bill would have my back during a battle. And that kind of thing went a long way toward establishing trust.

Yes—I trusted Nora. And I knew that she would help me out of my current clusterfuck if she could—just as I would always help her if she needed it.

I closed my eyes and tried to allow a memory of Nora to fill me. I was certain that if it could, I would be halfway to forgetting—at least for a moment—the heart carnage left in the wake of Hurricane Sookie.

But, unfortunately, my memories of Nora didn't compare with my thoughts of Sookie Stackhouse.

Nora―I loved like a _vampire_ sister. She was what humans might call a friend with benefits. First and foremost, we shared Godric's blood. Being her lover had always felt fucking amazing, but those feelings had never evolved into romantic "love." In fact, Nora was one of the few individuals that I might actually talk to about my feelings for a certain blond telepathic fairy-human. Gods know, throughout the years, I'd had to listen to Nora drone on and on about the paramours she'd had—even if our more recent conversations had all been phone calls or emails.

But in the end, no matter how nice it felt to fuck Nora, I'd never loved her like I loved Sookie; I'd never loved anyone like that. Not my human wife. Not Godric. Not Pam.

Sookie—I had wanted to spend _at least_ one lifetime with, hopefully more if I could have talked her into being turned. I would have also done whatever she asked in order to get that "one" life. I would have remained faithful to her. I would have fed from no others—as long as she was letting me feed from her. I would have given her all that was mine. I would have made everyone who owed me fealty bow before her. I would have placed her above—and before—all others.

I'd _already_ put her before Pam and even before myself. Outside of the necromancer's shop, I _had been_ willing to die so that Sookie might live. Of course that fact pissed me the fuck off, but it was still a fact. And I'd not hesitated to make that deal with Marnie or Antonia or whoever the fuck she'd been at the time.

Yes—when I'd said that I'd given myself to Sookie completely, I had spoken the truth.

I belonged to her in a fundamental way that would—could—never be severed.

Like a welder, she'd thawed and then fused together the left-over pieces of my dead heart with the sun of her very being. And then—instead of cherishing what she had created—she'd shattered it into even more pieces than before.

But I could now remember it being whole. And—like a V-addict craving blood—I would always want that again.

I felt heat in my eyes, but I angrily held onto the tears that threatened to fall. I _wasn't_ going to cry for Sookie Stackhouse—especially not in front of Bill Compton.

I loved and hated my bonded one so fucking much. I closed my eyes tightly and my mind traveled to the woods near her home—to the stream that had filled my senses with its song as I'd filled my woman with my cock. She'd felt _so_ fucking right to me as we'd joined. We had belonged to each other in that moment—and in the many moments that had followed it.

But she'd been right about what she'd said the very next night.

_Nothing_ lasts forever.

"Eric?" Bill asked, breaking the silence that had grown between us.

"What?" I snapped a little as I was drawn out of my daydream—drawn out of Sookie yet again.

"Um—are _you_ sure that you don't have something to tell _me_?" Bill asked with a smirk.

I assessed myself and sure enough, I had a huge Sookie-induced erection. "Fuck!" I said in frustration.

"No thanks," Bill quipped.

I shoved Bill lightly—just enough so that his skin would barely meet the silver.

"Congratulations," Bill said, a mixture of sarcasm and perhaps envy in his tone.

"What for?" I asked.

"You seem to have been blessed in the size department," he bantered.

"Oh—you know what they say, Bill?" I said, having recovered from my musings about Sookie. I was genuinely thankful to Bill in that moment for taking my mind off of her.

"What's that?" Bill asked.

"It's not the size that matters."

Bill's eyebrow quirked.

"And _that_ is why I have spent a thousand years perfecting how to use this thing," I smirked.

"How nice for you," Bill deadpanned.

"Indeed," I answered.

"I still don't want to fuck you, Eric," Bill joked.

From the front of the car, we heard the volume being turned up on the radio. My smirk grew. "But they're playing our song."

Bill rolled his eyes and then grew serious. **"Do you think they might just be bringing us in for questioning? I mean—wouldn't we be dead already . . . ?"**

I cut him off, **"Have you ever heard of a vampire being hauled in by the Authority and then live to talk about it?" **

Bill turned and looked at me. His eyes held the fear that only one so young could have about death. But then his eyes moved past me to take in something behind me in the trunk.

Curious, I followed his gaze. It was an umbrella—a nice sturdy one—and immediately, I knew what Bill was thinking. I began to reach back for the object, inching my way toward it while trying to avoid the silver.

I contemplated. The risks were great, but if Bill's idea worked, then we would have to face only two vampires―unless there was a pursuing vehicle. But I didn't think there was. Either way, it would be far fewer than we would have to deal with once we reached our destination. That was for goddamned sure!

And we would have the element of surprise on our side too. But most importantly, we were now well away from Bon Temps—and Sookie.

I grabbed the umbrella, and Bill and I maneuvered it into position before thrusting it into the gas tank, which—thankfully—was only about a third of the way full at this point.

"**All right. All right. Now we just need some fire,"** I said as Bill snapped the wooden handle into kindling. The fire would be easy enough to create.

* * *

><p>The explosion was everything that I had hoped for—powerful enough to destroy the car, dislodge the silver, and sling Bill and myself free from the trunk, but not strong enough to incinerate us.<p>

I was thrown against a fence, but I soon got my bearings. Bill was in worse shape. I rushed over to him.

Bill had a piece of metal in his shoulder, but it was easily taken care of.

"**Come. We've gotta go,"** I said.

"**You should run,"** Bill said in a strained, but commanding voice.

Of course, Bill wasn't technically my king anymore, so I didn't feel the need to obey him.

In fact, I felt like _I_ was the commander in that moment. It reminded me of my days as a Viking—when I was a leader of men. And I'd _never_ left a comrade behind—just as my men had not left me behind when I was dying my human death. I'd not had many comrades since I'd become a vampire, but I'd never abandoned one of them in times of danger either—until the day that Godric had _ordered_ me to leave the basement of the Fellowship church. That thought made me angry, and I used that emotion to get Bill to his feet.

I snarled, **"I'm not leaving you here! Let's go."**

As we were rising, a voice came from behind us. **"Who wants to die first?" **Authority flunky #1 asked.

And then just like that, the flunky was dead, and behind what was left of him stood the person that I had been thinking about—my sister.

Nora spoke, **"**_**You**_**―****Hayes. You die first."**

She dropped his spine unceremoniously onto the ground.

Yep—I thought to myself—_that_ was fucking sexy!

Even though he had no idea who the vampiress in front of him was, I could tell that Bill was thinking the same thing.

We were vampires, after all. Vampires in love with a fairy—_sure_—but vampires nonetheless.

And a blood-covered beautiful woman? Yep—I was pretty certain that both Bill and I wanted to fuck her in that moment.

"Nora," I said.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello all! Thanks to everyone who's decided to "pick this story back up." :) I'm enjoying getting your "second" reactions to this previously written section. In the next chapter, there are quite a few changes (for later continuity's sake). I hope you will keep reading.**

**Sorry that I didn't send around Chapter 3 yesterday; I had an internet problem.**

**To make up, I'll be posting chapter 4 later today. **

**Also, Kleannhouse is now Beta-ing this story for me. Thanks!  
><strong>

**Best,**

**Kat**


	4. Chapter 4: Nora

****Disclaimer: ****I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Nora<strong>

I saw my sister, and in an instant, my mind was transported to the last time we'd seen each other.

* * *

><p><strong>[Flashback: London, January 1945—four months before the surrender of Germany]<strong>

I walked in the shadows, trying to be unseen by the humans that were out on the foggy London night. Were all the nights there foggy? I'd rarely seen them not be.

Very few street lights had been lit, and—probably due to the bitter cold—very few people were out. Most who had ventured into the night seemed to be coughing. And their eyes showed a kind of wariness and powerlessness that only the memories of being bombarded from above could bring.

Hitler's forces were most certainly on their way to defeat, but the dying animal was the most dangerous in many ways. And the people of London worried that he'd send the last of his planes and bombs to destroy what hadn't already been destroyed in the _Blitzkrieg_ several years before.

The threat of being bombed didn't worry me much since I could hear the huge bombers from very far away, chugging along as if they might drop from the sky at any moment. And the smaller planes buzzed even more annoyingly. Thus, I could easily gauge the planes' targets from the lines of their courses in the sky. Unlike humans, I could use my senses and my speed to get away or to seek appropriate shelter. So the only thing that could have concerned me was a daytime bombing. But, honestly, that possibility was so remote that it didn't worry me much. After all, London hadn't been bombed in years, and Hitler's resources were extremely limited.

In truth, vampires hadn't much cared about the Great War that had been waging in Europe, Africa, and Asia; in fact, we had never cared much about the actions of humans—unless they affected us directly.

Most vampires were using the war only as an opportunity to find and kill the injured. The kills were easy and easily covered up, but Nora had always been of a different ilk than most.

She had always been driven to protect those who were most vulnerable—those who couldn't protect themselves. I'd found Nora dying of a disease from which she'd been trying to save others—a disease from which she _could_ have stayed away. I'd found her—a member of an aristocratic family—in a squalid, make-shift hospital where she'd been tending to people of lower classes. Most of the wealthy and the powerful—including Nora's family—had left London, hoping that the disease could be burned away by setting fires to the most affected—and poorest—areas of London. By contrast, Nora had ventured into the heart of the disease's rampage in order to help.

It didn't surprise me that—instead of preying upon the victims of World War II—Nora was working as a nurse to treat them. It had been easy for her to glamour the ward doctor to allow her to work only nights. So while both humans and vampires were killing in the thousands, Nora was trying to help—as usual. At the very least, she was able to glamour away the pain of those who had been hurt the most. She never, however, gave her own blood to the injured. She'd drawn the line there because of her idiosyncratic ideas about fate and ethics.

Her rules about her blood were simple, and those rules had been ingrained into both her and myself by our maker. Godric had taught us that the blood should be held sacred and not given unless it was to make a child or a bond. He'd instructed that a child should be made only when a clear pull was felt; in other words, he had taught _selectivity_.

That was why he still hadn't really warmed to Pamela. Though I had grown to care for my child very much—and Godric could feel that through our bond—I had not been drawn to "make" her in that brothel in San Francisco. Pam had forced my hand, and Godric disapproved of my turning her without feeling the "pull."

In addition to teaching Nora and me about maker-child selection, Godric had been adamant that bonds with humans not be entered into without caution and much forethought. Godric had formed only one such bond during his long life, but he would not speak of it. He simply said that it gave him both immense pleasure and intense pain.

Because of our maker's lessons, Nora had never given her blood to save any of the humans she tried to help; there would have been too many to save anyway. I knew that firsthand. I'd witnessed the ravages of the war throughout Europe as Godric and I had made our way to Germany―where we'd traced the tattooed Weres―and it was the worst carnage that I had ever witnessed.

And I had witnessed quite a bit.

As long as Godric was alive, his bond with Nora transferred to me—"echoed" in me—to a certain extent, so I had no trouble tracking her. I went to the hospital where she worked, and I waited outside for her. When I saw her—dressed primly in a white nurse's uniform with blood on it—my fangs clicked down immediately.

It had been a long time since we'd had the chance to fuck.

She answered my obvious arousal with a roll of her eyes.

_Typical_. It had been a long time since we'd had the chance to fuck _with_ each other too.

"Brother," she said in her perfect English accent. Obviously, she was not surprised to see me at all.

"Sister, you look well," I said simply.

"Well," she responded with snark, "you do _not_." She'd never been one to pull punches.

"I _am_ not," I said with regret.

In fact, I'd not been well at all. Several months before, Godric had—for the first time in my existence—ordered me from his sight. And I felt disconnected—adrift.

Nora took my hand and led me through the streets of London, likely toward her resting place.

"I got a letter from Godric last week," Nora said when we were about a block away from the hospital.

"He told you I was coming then?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"He told me that you _might_," she confirmed.

"Did he tell you why?" I asked, as we ducked into an alley off of Whitechapel Street. There was still much ruin and rubble left from the _Blitzkrieg_, for the British were, by necessity, focusing most of their resources—both materials and manpower—on fighting the war, not on rebuilding its neighborhoods, especially not the poorer ones.

"Yes," she said simply.

I was both angry at Godric and also glad that I wouldn't have to rehash the situation with Nora.

Godric had been _extremely_ displeased with me after I'd given the tattooed Were my blood so that she would talk.

"A vampire is never at the mercy of his emotions," Godric had said to me with judgment steeped in his eyes. "He _dominates_ them."

After that incident, my maker had tried to reassure me that we would find the vampire who had been responsible for the deaths of my parents. He had told me to have _patience_.

However, in my view, Godric's "patience" had been keeping us a step away from the vampire responsible. In fact, Godric's heart did not seem to be in the search at all. Of that, I had been certain. I felt it through our bond.

But when I had questioned him about this, Godric had chastised me and then sent me away. And in my frustration, pain, and rejection, I had eventually made my way to my sister.

Nora led us to a small basement apartment in a large building. The inner rooms of that dwelling served as her "home." There were no windows, and the space was dark and dank—perfect for a vampire who didn't want to be bothered.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" she asked me.

"No," I answered. "I do not."

She nodded and busied herself with lighting a few lamps around her home.

"Do you wish to _fuck_ about it?" she asked.

"Please," I responded.

"Well then," she said prissily, "let me warm you some water for a bath first. I do not wish to fuck you when you smell of the toils of travel. Have you eaten?"

I shook my head.

Nora gave me a little smile. "There are many whores around this area. They will be easy prey for you, but do _not_ kill them, Brother."

I rolled my eyes. "I have been able to control my feedings for much longer than you have been in existence, Sister."

She smirked. "I suppose you have." She was silent for a moment. "It is just that I _like_ most of them. They are quite nice, actually."

I scoffed a little as Nora gave me a dirty look. Only she would befriend the whores in her hunting grounds.

"There is one named Meg. She is a redhead and always wears an emerald green dress. Her blood is the best—_if_ she is not otherwise occupied."

I nodded and turned to go find this Meg.

"There's a bit of money on the bureau. I would not want Meg to starve, Eric."

I turned to face her. "I have some money, Nora. And I would _not_ leave her with nothing." I sighed in frustration and raised my voice a little, "I was _not_ a caveman in my human life.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Brother. Caveman. Viking. There is little difference."

"I will give her money and a nice memory. Will that content you?" I asked acerbically.

Her eyes and voice softened. "Let us not fight tonight—_if_ we can help it. Go get your dinner, and by the time you are back, I will have a nice bath ready for you."

I nodded and sighed. I didn't want to squabble with her either. I wanted her comfort, though fighting a bit with her had made me feel more like myself than I had in months.

"Thank you, Nora," I said over my shoulder on my way out.

When I returned from my meal, which had been quite tasty, Nora and I bathed together. After that, I took her body with mine—first quickly and then slowly.

Nora did not, thankfully, ask me anything about my—hopefully—temporary exile from Godric's sight. She comforted me with her body and held me through my death-rest.

When I rose the next evening, Nora was still in her "death." I readied myself to go, though I had to wait for the sun to fully set before I did. As it set, Nora awoke. Without words being needed, I kissed her cheek in thanks and then left.

I knew that Nora had been courting a place in the Vampire Authority and had worked for the Guardian more than once during the previous century in order to gain his favor. I also knew that it was her ultimate aim to be a Chancellor. Thus, entanglements—like a wayward vampire brother—would do her no service. And I had gotten what I needed from her—reconnection and comfort.

When I left her, her eyes told me that she understood both why I'd come and why I was leaving so soon. And that understanding—which was mutual—was why I cared so much for her.

**[End of Flashback]**

* * *

><p>My memories swept through me with the speed at which the explosion had ripped through the vehicle.<p>

A flash of Pam entered my thoughts amidst the flames surrounding me. I realized that my vampire child must now feel very much like I had felt when Godric had sent me away—rejected and empty. Disconnected.

I wondered if I'd be able to contact her soon—to try to repair what had been damaged between us.

My eyes flashed back to Nora's large brown orbs. She was as beautiful as always. And—as always—I saw promised comfort in her eyes.

I realized that—after Sookie's rejection—it was comfort that I craved. Comfort that I needed.

That comfort was all I thought about as I crossed over to her in a few long strides.

**"Nora,"** I said, and then I was kissing her. Familiar. Comforting. And—yes—accepting.

_Accepting_ most of all.

Her hair was silk, just as I remembered. I felt my lips melt into hers, speaking to her through our kiss. I was begging her to save me—not from any Authority flunky, but from myself and the emotions that threatened to overtake me.

That kiss felt like a safe haven—like "base" in a human child's game of tag.

I was immediately able to relax into her, and I realized then that I'd not relaxed in days—not since I'd been in the arms of Sookie Stackhouse.

I broke our kiss at that thought.

At the same moment, I heard Bill's fangs retract. **"Friend of yours?"** the ex-monarch asked, with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

I turned to him. **"It's my sister—actually."** And then I went back in for another kiss, and for a moment, I thought of _nothing_ else—not even Sookie. It was a blissful moment.

But that moment didn't last very long.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know that many Eric/Sookie lovers hated the introduction of Nora as a "love interest" for Eric. I don't agree with some people that Eric was awful for seeking comfort in her. Had Sookie not rejected him, he wouldn't have sought out Nora's comfort. I honestly don't think she was ever a real "threat" to take Eric's love from Sookie. Regardless, I had to include the relationship between Nora and Eric b/c of the "rules" I set for myself in this story. And I wanted to show this precedence of caring between the siblings and to introduce the character of Nora with more "care" than the show gave to her. There was quite a bit "new" in this chapter. I hope you liked it.**

**Until next time, **

**Kat**


	5. Chapter 5: Blood Flow

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 05: Blood Flow<strong>

"**The Guardian wanted Nan followed to make sure she carried out his orders,"** Nora informed. **"I saw an opportunity to save Eric, so I took it."**

**"So nobody in the Authority knows about your relationship?"** Bill asked.

**"And they never will,"** Nora responded with a slight shake of her head.

In truth, I was following Bill and Nora's conversation with only one ear; my mind was elsewhere.

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," I thought to myself, recalling my refrain from earlier that night.

Fuck—it had been a _long_ night!

I was monitoring Sookie's emotions; I couldn't fucking help myself! And that just pissed me off even more.

Wasn't Nora's presence supposed to make me forget about Sookie Stackhouse? I scoffed. I sounded winy even to myself, but—still—I kept my blood focused on my bonded.

I was feeling resolve from Sookie, but also self-loathing. It was as if she had transferred all of her negative emotions right onto herself, and I didn't fucking like that. I felt her insecurity. I felt her guilt. I felt her sadness.

Earlier, Sookie had left Bill's house feeling heart-broken. Although she couldn't have named what was at the undercurrent of that heart-break, I knew; it was our bond, pulling at us both. Her blood had been longing for mine—just as mine longed for hers.

Would _keep_ longing for hers—possibly until I met my final death.

That was the price of a bond. That was why Godric had always seemed melancholy when speaking about the bond he'd once formed with a human. Finally, I understood.

I checked my bonded again. Her feelings had shifted. She was numb.

I assessed Pam through my bond with her. She was already resting for some reason, but not yet dead for the day. She felt uncertain and a bit pissed off—which was par for the course for her for the last several days.

Only after checking Sookie again did I let myself assess my own feelings. I was glad to see Nora—_very_ glad. I was confident that she would save my ass. But I also felt something else—something I didn't fucking like at all! Regret.

Right after I'd kissed Nora, I had started to feel a gnawing. I realized almost immediately that this instantaneous eating away of my Nora-induced comfort had been caused by guilt. I felt as if I'd been unfaithful to Sookie.

Unfaithful! Since when had vampires been faithful creatures? Hell! Even in my human life, I hadn't been "faithful" to my wife in the modern-day sense. I had provided for her and the children she bore me. I had seen to her comfort and security. But I had lain with others, especially new thralls taken after battle. And I had never felt a moment of regret for any of my actions!

I looked down at the pavement and tried to expel my new and unwelcome feelings of guilt. "Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," I said to myself. She'd rejected me—made it fucking clear to me that she didn't want me or the life I would have offered her.

Therefore, I shouldn't fucking be feeling guilty!

_She_ had turned her back on our bond. And she had no fucking right to be making me feel like _I_ was the jackass because of some misguided notions about fidelity I knew she would possess. But here she was—in my head, at least—with her hands on her fucking glorious hips giving me _a look_.

"Fuck Sookie," I said to myself—_again_—realizing those words had become my mantra. I got only a small sense of satisfaction out of that realization.

What was there to be faithful to anyway? An idea? A hope? A bond she'd formed with _her_ Eric? Well—she'd fucking rejected the _real_ Eric fucking Northman, and that included _hers_! So she could go fuck herself!

I was tempted to bend Nora over the nearest crate and fuck her until the sun rose, just to prove the fucking point that I shouldn't feel—_didn't_ feel—guilt.

Of course, I knew that I was lying to myself—even as I had the thought.

Yes. I _did_—for, perhaps, the first time in my more than thousand years—feel guilty for following my instincts. I felt guilty for taking a kiss from a woman who had always been a place of comfort and affection for me. I felt guilty for getting aroused by the smell of fire and blood in the air. I felt guilty for licking a smidgen of Hayes's blood from the lips of a beautiful woman.

I fucking hated guilt!

I chastised myself _again_. And, _again_, I reminded myself that I ought not to feel any regret. Sookie's decision had been clear—crystal-fucking-clear! And it wasn't as if I was going to give my fucking "heart" to Nora. Fuck! I couldn't even _find_ that organ at the moment. I was pretty fucking sure it was under the boot of one Sookie fucking Stackhouse!

The fact that my dick was still in my pants and still able to function was a fucking miracle―especially since my balls seemed to be on hiatus―and I refused to feel fucking guilty because of that!

Except that I did.

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse!" I thought again—this time even louder in my head.

To avoid yet another rehash of why I _shouldn't_ be feeling guilty, I tuned back into Bill and Nora's conversation, hoping for a distraction.

**"We were only connected through our maker,"** Nora said. **"And Godric is gone."**

I looked at Nora when she said that, remembering the call I'd given her after Godric's death. Because of the magic used to sever her from Godric's influence, Nora had not known that he'd met the true death, so I'd had to explain to her what had happened to our maker.

There had been guilt on my part that night too—guilt that I couldn't stop Godric. As I'd spoken to Nora, I'd craved comfort―but not from her that night. I'd craved it from a beautiful blond telepath, who had already returned to Bon Temps while I'd been in my day-death.

I'd actually told Nora about Sookie that night—though I'd kept my emotional entanglement with her to myself. I'd simply told my sister that the telepath who had been helping me find Godric had stayed with our maker to the end.

I'd told her of Godric's shirt, which had been delivered to my room a few minutes after sunset. I'd told her of the note that had been with the shirt. It had read simply, "He did not suffer. He said he was full of joy. And he died in a beautiful blue light. There was no pain. _None_."

The note had been unsigned, but I had known who had written it. After carrying the note around with me for almost six months, the penciled words had begun to fade, and the paper had begun to wear. So I'd placed both the note and the shirt into a hidden lockbox that housed many of my most precious possessions.

Sookie's report of the "blue light" had caused ambivalent feelings within me. On the one hand, it had comforted me—and especially Nora. It had meant that Godric had truly let go—that he'd not activated the magic inside of his own body to resist the burning orb. That had confirmed that his death would have been, for the most part, painless. On the other hand, I didn't understand how Godric could have given up so completely that he'd not fought against death—against the sun—in any way.

Bill interrupted my thoughts. **"As a Chancellor of the Authority—I mean—you're taking a huge risk. Why would you choose to . . . .?"**

Nora interrupted him, **"Because I would do **_**anything**_** for Eric."**

I looked at my sister sincerely, feeling all of the emotions of the last weeks bubbling inside of me. **"And I would do anything for you,"** I vowed.

She responded with a smile in her eyes. Again—there was that comfort that I desperately craved.

Never one to become overly sentimental, Nora looked away after a moment and spoke once more to Bill, **"And because you did what you did protecting us from the necromancers." **She chuckled ruefully. **"That we would reward you for it with the true death speaks volumes about how," she paused, "**_**out of step**_** the Authority's current agenda is."** She paused again. **"I'm not alone in this belief."**

Nora continued talking about factions in the Authority that I already knew about. She also spoke of a plan she'd had in place before my and Bill's "stunt" with blowing up the car, but I found myself tuning out again as I checked on Sookie. Gods—part of me hated myself for doing that! But—again—I couldn't help myself.

Sookie was fine—or at least as fine as she'd been when I'd last "looked in on" the bond five fucking minutes ago! Still—I _hated_ her unrest.

I kept my feet moving forward with difficulty. Nora's talk of Godric had had an unexpected consequence: it had made me long for Sookie—my bonded one. Sookie was the _only_ one who could take away my pain; of that, I was certain. Nora could offer comfort, but she could not _heal_ me. I knew that only one thing—only one person—could, but, still, I kept walking.

I could not—after all—go to my bonded for many reasons. Reasons that seemed to be growing exponentially by the minute.

Bill was saying that he was sorry for fucking up Nora's extraction plan when I tuned back into their conversation.

**"Don't be,"** Nora intoned looking at Bill with her patented half-smile. **"It was badass." **

I smirked a little. First, that explosion _had_ been rather badass. Second, it was clear from Nora's tone that she was flirting with Bill—at least a little. My sister was always one to wrap people around her dainty and deadly fingers. I mused and was amused for a moment: Nora and Bill? Who knows?

But—flirting and thoughts of my bonded aside—the practicality that had reigned inside of me for a thousand years reared its head, **"So what do we do now?"** I asked.

Nora's plan was to go to ground and make new arrangements for the next night. **"Lillith willing," **she said,** "we'll be safe."**

Bill gestured toward an old box car—now little more than a rusty eyesore within a village of similar eyesores.

I shook my head slightly. Humans certainly knew how to pile up waste.

Bill opened the doors of the storage container. It was sound and would do for the day.

Nora agreed. **"Wait for me inside—will you? I have to call New Orleans and lie my ass off."**

Bill and I both moved toward her a little: me because I just loved watching Nora do one of the things she was best at—lying—and Bill because—well—probably because Nora just had a way of drawing people in.

**"I **_**strongly**_** recommend holding still,"** she chastised in that tone that I knew would begin to grate on me sooner rather than later. But for now, it was charming; it always was at first.

Gods—I appreciated my sister. She was _exactly_ the kind of distraction I needed to get my mind off of Sookie fucking Stackhouse, whose fucking sorrow had now returned with a fucking vengeance. I pulled myself from the bond, promising myself that I would _not_ check it again until right before I fell into my day-rest.

While Nora was showing off her magnificent skills, lying about our escape and Hayes's unfortunate demise, all of which she called a "hiccup," Bill turned to me and spoke in a whisper, **"I knew you had friends in high places, but a Chancellor of the Authority? Who else knows about this?"**

**"No one,"** I said quickly. **"Not even Pam."**

Bill gave me a surprised look.

I had thought about telling my progeny about Nora, but Nora's position demanded outright secrecy. Hell, the severing spell done by the Authority to remove the maker's ability to command was designed—_also_—to convince that maker that his child had met the true death! And if the vampire joining the Authority had progeny, similar spells were conducted.

Nora had broken protocol when she'd told Godric and me about her acceptance into the Authority. And she'd broken it even more by staying in touch with me over the years.

_Officially_, Nora was dead—even to me. And I had never had a reason to tell Pam, who had never met Nora, about any of it.

Plus, I knew that Pam would have been too trigger happy to use that information to get us out of one of the piles of shit we'd found ourselves in over the years. Hell—I hadn't even tried to use my connection with Nora in the aftermath of the Magister's death or when Russell was loose. I figured that Nora was giving me all the help that she could from the inside anyway. And contacting her for more would have compromised her safety and her position.

I watched as Nora finished her call. I walked toward her, feeling myself drawn in by the familiarity of her—the surety. She was a great liar. Hell, I knew for certain that she'd lied to, glamoured, and fed from a pope once—just because we'd made a bet about it—but she'd never lied to me. And I'd never lied to her.

She'd never been one to lie to herself either. Nora had always been a compelling mix of ambition, compassion, and ruthlessness; she was unapologetic about that mix too. When someone did something she thought was wrong, she killed him or her—ruthlessly—or she made him or her suffer dearly. When she saw a true victim, she did the opposite.

And—_always_—she'd had a grand "vision" for herself. The day that Godric told her about the existence of the Authority was the day that she'd decided to become a part of the governing body behind the scenes of all vampire politics. I knew my sister well—knew that her desire to be in that body was born from both her personal ambition to be powerful, to _never_ be the victim herself, as well as her aspiration to make the world a better place as _she_ saw fit.

As a "good" brother should, I had always teased her for being a bit "hokey." But, truth be told, I could use a little hokey right now. And I could certainly use a little Nora. She would not—had _never_—turned her back from me.

She would _not_ tell me that she loved me in one breath and then leave me in the next. She could be trusted to offer me comfort _without_ complication, and—after Hurricane Sookie—a little simple comfort would be nice.

I looked at Nora and tried to erase the self-judgment that was once again seeping around the edges of my conscious mind. That nagging voice was still telling me that I was being unfaithful to Sookie by even _thinking_ of taking pleasure and comfort in Nora. Once again, I was pissed off by that voice. I swept away that feeling—or at least I tried to.

"Fucking blood bond!" I thought to myself. "It doesn't matter to me now anyway!"

I was, of course, lying to myself again, but sometimes a lie was more "practical" than the truth.

Nora chose that exact moment to give me a little smirk and say, **"Even the best of liars can be ended."**

Knowing that Nora wasn't actually referring to my inner monologue, I focused on my sister and read her eyes. I understood the risk she was taking for me and for Bill. She was imperiling her position and her life. Yes—Nora was _exactly_ what I needed: the surety of someone who would take a risk _for me_.

Nora looked over at Bill, **"I hope you both understand that tomorrow night you'll be saying goodbye to the lives you've known forever. If you come back—if you **_**ever**_** return—it'll be the true death of me."**

Nora was looking back at me now, her eyes shimmering with seriousness and maybe even a little fear.

I recognized the gravity of the moment. I felt that gravity pulling at every cell of my body even then—trying to pull my blood to the blood of a fairy-human who was now half the state away. I'd known that I would not be able to return to Sookie Stackhouse before Nora had spoken, but hearing the words out loud felt like a silver dagger probing at those tiny shards of my heart that Sookie had left behind in her wake.

"**I understand,"** I heard myself saying, but it was another lie. I didn't, in truth, understand very much at all in that moment. I didn't understand when exactly I'd lost control over my emotions. I didn't understand why I couldn't just hate Sookie Stackhouse and go back to the emotionally distant vampire I'd been before. I didn't understand how I was going to survive the fortnight if I didn't do just that. I didn't understand why my feelings for Sookie only seemed to be growing, despite the fact that she had rejected me. And I _especially_ didn't understand the fucked up choice she'd made that had hurt _three_ individuals, instead of just one.

I didn't fucking understand Sookie's math at all!

But I _did_ understand that I'd likely never see her again, and looking at Bill's face, I knew that my ex-monarch also understood that fact.

"**As do I,"** Bill said, confirming my thought.

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," I thought to myself. Both Bill _and_ I sounded like we were being led to a fucking firing squad, not being given another chance at life.

"**Good," **Nora said,** "let's get some rest."**

I followed her into the box car and helped Bill secure the door. I double-checked to make sure the space was light-tight, my eyes taking in the structure of the container quickly. It was sound. I thought briefly about going over to where Nora was settling down in the corner, but I didn't.

Instead, I sat down near the door and stretched out my long legs. It was only five minutes until dawn, but I was more than ready for it to come so that I could escape into sweet oblivion for a little while.

It had been a long night. Almost being burned at the stake, being burned figuratively by the taste of Sookie's blood as she'd healed me, being rejected by the only woman I'd ever truly loved, killing Nan, being captured by the Authority, blowing up in a car, and meeting Nora again.

Yes. It had been a _very_ long fucking night.

And I felt—for lack of a better word—"tired," even though my body wasn't lacking in blood. I lay down on the rusty floor of the box car. The cold metal felt good to me; it felt _appropriate_ somehow.

With my last act of the long night, I allowed myself to examine the bond I'd begun with Sookie. It was just as strong to me in the boxcar as it had been in Bon Temps, a fact that I both loved and hated. My bonded was now immersed in sorrow. I wondered briefly what had happened to overwhelm her. I wondered if part of her sorrow could be about me.

I also wondered when the fuck I would find my balls! I shook myself a little. Tomorrow night, I was resolved to put Sookie out of my mind. What good would it do to keep checking the bond? What good would it do Sookie or myself?

Even if she were dying, I couldn't help her at this point!

No—tomorrow I would forget Sookie Stackhouse, but in the last moments of the night, I simply _felt_ her through our bond. I closed my eyes and followed the flow of my blood—into and out of the bond. I'd been surprised to find that the bond was similar to an organ in my body. It was a physical thing. It took up space in my body—latched, unsurprisingly, onto the organ that used to pump blood through my body. That organ no longer beat, so now my blood simply drifted, activated by and responding to the magic that kept me from permanent death.

It seemed as if the magic within my blood cells prickled with Sookie's sorrow as those tiny orbs drifted through the bond.

I fell into death, knowing my own sorrow was a twin to hers.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope you are still enjoying this!**

**Have a wonderful holiday season! And-if you are good-there might be a bonus chapter of this waiting in your stocking tomorrow. :)  
><strong>

**Kat**


	6. Chapter 6: Best Laid Plans

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Best Laid Plans<strong>

I woke up from my day-rest, obviously having "forgotten" my resolution to locate and reattach my balls.

Of course, the truth was that I hadn't forgotten anything.

It was about twenty minutes before the sun was due to set. Though older than Bill, Nora had not developed the ability to rise before the sun was no longer a danger to her. Many vampires never did. Therefore, I knew I would have a little while to myself.

As if by instinct, I used the time before the others "awoke" to find and assess Sookie through our bond. She was apprehensive. She was anxious. And she was hopeful.

But underneath those emotions, she was continuing to pummel herself with loathing. And underneath that, I could felt her longing. I knew what she longed for; I longed for the same thing—connection.

_Connection with each other_.

The bond wanted it. I wanted it.

I had to remind myself that _she_ didn't.

I shook my head, _not_ having forgotten my mantra. "Fuck Sookie," I said out loud into the dark storage container. Indeed, Fuck her! After all, Sookie knew the fucking number of my secure phone and could have called me if she'd changed her mind about severing our connection.

With that thought, I quickly checked my phone. Maybe she had called.

Nothing.

I angrily shoved the device back into my pocket and stood up, opening the doors the moment that it was safe to do so.

I was looking at the gray of the early night when two cool hands snaked around my stomach from behind.

"Would you like to tell me what's wrong, Brother?" Nora asked.

I leaned into her and saw that Bill was still asleep. He'd probably stay that way for another ten minutes or so. Most vampires under 200 years old slept until the night was _truly_ dark. I enjoyed the dusk; in my opinion, disappearing light was better than none at all.

"No," I said simply. I didn't feel like talking. I didn't want to rake the scabs from my wounds; they were tenuously hanging on as it was.

I wanted to be numb.

"You are going to keep up your wallowing—then?" Nora asked. "You know—you are _never_ pleasant when you are moody."

"I'm not moody," I grumbled.

"Of course not," Nora said sarcastically, breaking her physical contact with me and stepping around so that she could face me. "Well—would you like to tell me what you are _not_ wallowing and _not_ moody about?"

I gave her a half-smile. "I _never_ liked how well you could read me, Sister."

"Nor did your pocketbook when we played at cards," she smiled back.

She glanced out into the gray twilight. "Are you saddened by the life you leave behind, Brother? I know that you have businesses and a child. I'm sure that, after a time, you can arrange for Pamela to know where you are, and surely, Mr. Packrat, you still have some of that money you always hoarded around the world."

"Yes," I said simply. "I have access to plenty of money. And I will call Pam to me soon enough—once I am certain she will not be followed."

"Then what is it?" Nora asked.

"A woman," I admitted.

"The same one Mr. Compton is mooning over as well?" she asked perceptively.

"Yes," I relented. "She is _quite_ a woman."

"The one you told me about? The telepath who stayed with Godric?" she asked.

Damn! She was always _too_ perceptive. "Yes," I confirmed simply.

"You love her?" Nora asked.

"Yes." It was another simple answer, but the feelings behind it were anything but. I craved a little simplicity.

"I did not think I would live to see the day when you loved like this, Brother, and I _always_ intended to live for a _very_ long time," Nora half-quipped.

"She is _quite_ a woman," I repeated in a low voice.

"Yes—you said that already," Nora responded, her voice devoid of anything other than care.

"I bonded with her," I said almost contritely, though I felt no real regret—not about that. Even if I'd had all my memories in the cubby, I would have wanted the same thing.

"You what?" Nora asked, clearly agitated. "But how can you be sure? You likely just exchanged, Eric. Godric always told us how difficult it is to form a bond."

Nora seemed to be looking for a way out for me—an escape from the bond I'd made, as if it were a chain. Maybe it was. I took her in with a wry smile; it was sweet of her to be so concerned―really.

"Surely, you did not _actually_ bond," she insisted.

"Yes—a _first_ bond," I said.

"Perhaps it did _not_ take," Nora reasoned. "Bonds don't always take—you know."

"It took. I am _certain_," I said with significance, knowing she'd understand my meaning.

Nora looked at me with wide eyes. "You felt it? Actually experienced it? The euphoria?"

I nodded.

"What was it like?" she asked with a little awe in her voice.

"Euphoric," I deadpanned.

Nora rolled her eyes and then scrutinized me for a moment. "Then she should be here with you. I will arrange for her to have papers too. One phone call, Eric, and it . . . ."

I cut her off gruffly. "That will _not_ be necessary."

She narrowed her eyes. "But to be without her now will cause _you_ pain. It is probably _already_ doing so if she is still all the way in Bon Temps."

"As I indicated, we have made only one exchange," I said evenly, neither confirming nor denying the huge and very painful ache in my body. "And the bond _will_ fade in time as long as there is no more blood exchanged between us."

"Eric, her place is with _you_," Nora insisted. "If you chose her like that, _it is with you_!" She paused. "If you trust no one else, I will go get her myself after you and Bill are gone, and I promise that I will bring her to you safely."

I scoffed. "You cannot return to me something which is _not_ mine, Nora."

"But the bond makes her yours, Eric," Nora pointed out.

"Sookie Stackhouse does _not_ wish to belong to me," I said through clenched teeth.

"Does she belong to Mr. Compton—then?" Nora asked, looked over at the still-sleeping vampire.

I shook my head. "Sookie has chosen to belong to _neither _of us." My fingers were biting into my palms because of the pressure of the fists I was making to keep myself under control.

"But you _want_ her to belong to you," Nora aptly observed.

I looked into the darkening sky and answered Nora's question with an almost imperceptible nod.

We were silent for a few moments.

"Do you want to talk about it anymore?" Nora asked compassionately.

"Talk about what?" Bill queried as he rose and stretched his limbs.

"No," I said ignoring Bill and boring a look into Nora. "I want to fuck about it."

She gave me a little smile. "Mr. Compton, would you mind giving Eric and myself some time alone?"

Bill looked at me with a bit of surprise, but he nodded and quickly left the container.

* * *

><p>I buried myself into Nora. Her cool flesh welcomed me in, and I sighed. Fuck—she felt good.<p>

But—to experience that physical pleasure—I had to _actively_ prevent myself from thinking about why Nora didn't feel '_best_.' There was only one who would ever feel like that. And for the moment, I needed to forget that '_one_'; I needed for the world to feel simple again—manageable.

I pounded into Nora roughly, taking her from behind as we stood. Her hands were braced against the side of the storage container. It was a good thing; otherwise, I might have fucked her right through it.

Despite my efforts to stay focused on the moment, I felt my mind drifting—drifting toward guilt, drifting toward how _wrong_ Nora felt around me, despite the fact that she felt _good_.

I missed a beat with my thrusts, and as if Nora could sense exactly what I was feeling and as if she knew exactly how to make it better, she grunted loudly and quickly turned us around, pushing my back against the metal wall—hard.

Her eyes blazed with both passion and caring—almost protectiveness. Her eyes ordered me to stop thinking and to just let myself "be."

I tried.

I thrust into her again, pulling her leg onto my thigh so that I could go deeper.

"**I miss you sister,"** I said in Swedish. I _did_ miss her.

"**I miss you too, my brother,"** Nora said softly—sincerely.

I knew she meant it. I knew that she wanted me to be there _with her_ in that moment. I also knew that her desire had little to do with the sex—though she was obviously enjoying it. More than physical pleasure, however, she knew that I needed something else, something similar to what I'd needed more than half a century before in London.

And—for that understanding—I cherished my sister.

I picked her up and wrapped her legs around my hips before turning her and thrusting back into her as her back thrust against the wall.

If it had been Sookie in my arms, I would have never pounded into her so forcefully—almost mercilessly—not that being "gentle" with Sookie had ever lessened my pleasure. On the contrary—it had _increased_ it to a great extent. I just never wanted to hurt her, and a vampire _did_ have to hold back with a human.

That was just a fact.

Bill had purposely made Sookie feel insecure about this fact when he'd screwed Lorena. Of course, his motives had been "good"; he'd wanted her to stay away from him. He'd wanted to hurt her so that Russell, his Weres, and Lorena could not hurt her worse.

But even the most well-intentioned actions often had consequences. Sookie had told me about Bill's comments during that long day in the cubby; she'd been worried that I hadn't been satisfied by our sex, and she'd wanted to know if there was anything that she could do to make it "better."

I'd been flabbergasted by her words. How could someone make "_best_" better? Even in my amnesic state, I'd not seen the logic in that, and I'd told her so.

She'd joked—in that insecure way that she had sometimes—that I was likely just satisfied because I couldn't remember having sex with anyone else.

But that _wasn't_ the truth. The truth was that I'd _never_ felt anything as exquisite as being connected to Sookie. We had _a way_ of moving together, which had felt perfect—_right_. It had come to us naturally, our bodies just seeming to react as one. We had flowed in and out of each other as if we had been practicing our dance for all of my thousand years. We had spoken in ways that words could never speak.

No—screwing Sookie as I was screwing Nora _wouldn't_ have been possible.

Frustrated, I tried to shake myself out of my current Sookie-induced haze. Again, I felt anger. My body just wanted to enjoy its fuck! But now that Sookie Stackhouse was filtering into my head, I felt my carnal desire slipping away from me.

I grunted and drove into Nora again, glad that _at least_ my body still knew "how" to fuck, even if my mind didn't know how to enjoy it. I was irritated at myself for letting Sookie into this moment, frustrated that I could no longer just enjoy Nora without comparing her to a woman who clearly didn't want me as I wanted her. Mostly, I was forlorn that I would never again feel sex with the partner I truly craved.

Luckily, I was drawn out of my melancholic thoughts by the unlikeliest of sources: Bill Compton. I heard Bill's amused voice from outside, **"**You** might want to keep the noise down in there. New Orleans is **_**only**_** sixty miles away."**

Thanks to Bill—I was distracted just enough to pull myself out of my swirling thoughts about Sookie so that I could refocus on Nora. If my vampire sister had known that I was trying to keep myself hard—even as I was fucking her—she would have likely kicked my ass.

"Thank you, Bill," I thought to myself. I was grateful for the "wake-up call," but even more thankful that Bill's voice had held no judgment. Of all people, Bill was the _most_ likely to judge me as unworthy of Sookie because of my carnal actions with Nora. But the Civil War veteran's voice was dripping with sarcasm and amusement, not derision. And as I looked into Nora's eyes, I was thankful for that fact.

Bill understood.

Nora was smiling like someone who had been caught doing something _very_ naughty. Her expression was delicious. I could work with delicious.

"**What if he is right?"** I purred in Swedish. I closed my eyes momentarily as I felt her clamp down her internal muscles. Yes—_delicious_. **"Do you think they can hear us?" **

I knew my words would get a rise out of her. Unlike a certain fairy-human hybrid that I was _definitely_ refusing to think about anymore, Nora loved a little exhibitionism now and then.

I thrust deeply into her, feeling that she was close to exploding around me and wanting to be right there with her. I wasn't sure that I could be, but I was damned sure going to try, and if it did take me a bit longer to get to the promised land—well—then I'd be sure to give Nora a couple of additional orgasms along the way.

But then I heard my phone ring.

"Sookie," was my initial thought. Very few knew the number of my untraceable phone. I'd programmed it into Sookie's phone _after_ she'd saved me from burning at the stake—just the night before. I'd programmed it _before_ she'd fed me and Bill―_before_ she'd rejected us both. But no—it couldn't be her. I'd given her a different ring tone. Knowing that it wasn't her gave me pain, and I kept thrusting into Nora, looking for some relief for that pain.

**"What. Is That?"** Nora asked, gripping my hair and yanking my head back.

"**Uhhhhh,"** I groaned. Pulling anyone's hair fucking hurt—vampire or not!

So much for relief.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope you liked the added scene at the beginning of this chapter. In the actual episode, I'd been "jarred" by the suddenness of the Eric/Nora sex, even though I didn't "blame" Eric. As an Eric/Sookie lover, it was a hard scene to watch and write, but-again-my rules made me do it. **

**Until the next one,**

**Kat**


	7. Chapter 7: Ike Applebaum

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Ike Applebaum<strong>

"**That's my phone," **I told my vampire sister, knowing that our sexual encounter was coming to an end—without either of us cumming. I honestly couldn't say if I was disappointed or relieved about that.

Fucking guilt!

"**You still got your phone?"** Nora demanded, her hand grasping my chin painfully. Gods, her grip was fucking strong! I pulled out of her and quickly pulled up my jeans, giving her a little kiss on the nose and then one on forehead―just to rattle her cage. Gods, how I loved annoying her!

She slapped my chest in frustration and yelled at me as I walked out of the storage container to take the call.

"**How could you be so **_**stupid**_**?"** she yelled.

I smirked. She sounded as if she was an infant at the moment. Yep—I _loved_ to rile her. To do it even more, I decided to act like an infant as well. I turned around toward the boxcar even as I tried to get "not-so-little Eric" back into the cage of my jeans and zipper him in. **"My phone is untraceable, **_**Nora**_**!"** I yelled petulantly.

I heard an **"oh" **from inside the old box car.

Bill was looking at me with a smirk on his face. Again, there was no judgment in that look, and for that I was grateful. I'd half-expected for Bill to go off on the lack of morality of my actions, but thankfully, he was _not_ a hypocrite. After all, he'd fucked Lorena even as Sookie had been looking for him in Jackson. Sure—he'd had his reasons, but one of those had _certainly_ been lust. Another had been pain, and I appreciated the fact that Bill likely could empathize with the pain that was rebuilding in my chest—now that my immediate physical gratification was gone.

I vowed not to be conquered by the feeling of guilt that was once again trapping me in its web. Thankfully, Bill was still wearing his smirk, and that gave me the strength to put on one as well. Who knew that Bill Compton could come in so fucking handy?!

**"We fight like siblings,"** I said, finally caging the beast. **"But we fuck like champions."**

I glanced at Bill once more before digging my phone out of the pocket of my jeans.

Bill's look flashed from amusement to skepticism before I looked away. And—yes—I knew _why_ Bill's expression had changed. After all, I was skeptical too—skeptical of whether I would really ever be able to fuck like a champion again if my partner wasn't a certain someone, whom I _still_ wasn't fucking going to think about!

Except that I _was_ thinking about her. Fucking Sookie!

I checked the number quickly before answering. **"Alcide, my **_**faithful**_** friend,"** I said, amused by my own little joke. My _thoughts_ about the Were were slightly less charitable. I didn't like the way the wolf drooled over a certain someone. **"How are ya?" **I tagged on.

As I listened to Alcide Herveaux tell me that the greatest enemy I'd ever known had been freed from his concrete prison, I _could_ have been thinking about many things.

I _could_ have been thinking about how it didn't much matter since I was already conveniently fleeing the area. I _could_ have been ruefully laughing at the _double_-clusterfuck I'd found myself in; being hunted by both the Authority and Russell Edgington at that same time had to be a fucking record of some kind! I _could_ have been chastising my asinine idea of letting Russell live and suffer so that he could never find his peace with his beloved, Talbot. I _could_ have been wondering why Godric's spirit had visited me the night I'd buried Russell. I _could_ have been thinking about how all of this had started—with the deaths of my human family.

I _could_ have been thinking about a thousand things, but the only thing that entered my mind was the very thing that I'd been trying to keep out of it for the whole night: Sookie.

Herveaux was telling me that someone had obviously dug up Russell. He added that he'd offered Sookie his protection but that she'd turned him down flat. I didn't know whether to feel heartened or angry that she'd refused protection. _It was just like Sookie._

I kept it together enough to end the call. **"All right. Thanks for letting me know," **I said stiffly.

Immediately, I opened the bond, this time keeping it open.

For the first time in my _very_ long life, I found myself in the middle of a scenario that I couldn't think of any way out of—a Catch-22, the fucking _Kobayashi Maru_. There was no way to win! No card to play.

I closed my eyes.

If I went to Sookie, I would bring the Authority down onto her.

If I didn't, how could I protect her from Russell?

**"Eric, what is it?"** Bill asked in a throaty tone.

I didn't turn around to face my comrade right away.

I needed to think. I needed to breathe—even though I had no need of breath. I shot my hand up in a gesture, signifying to Bill—and Nora if she was looking—that I needed a minute, and I _did_. I really fucking did!

I walked a few steps forward and breathed in the night air. In the industrial area where we had stayed, the air tasted of oil, but I still took it in in long drags.

My gut _screamed_ at me to go to my bonded—to protect her. But what good would that do? Then she would have the Authority _AND_ Russell bearing down upon her, and she'd be just as likely to accept my help—to accept me—as she had been the night before.

In fact, my presence would likely make things _much_ _more_ _dangerous_ for her. Russell was _my_ enemy first and foremost, after all. Sure—he coveted Sookie, wanted her, and maybe even hated her for putting Talbot into the garbage disposal—but he wanted to kill me _more_. Of that, I was almost certain.

Almost.

I took a moment to fully assess Sookie through the bond. She was safe. Anxious. Hopeful. Impatient. Sad. Guilty.

_Alive_.

And Pam was close to her—very close. And there was another vampire nearby too―another vampire I _felt_. And that could mean only one thing: Pam had made a child.

I shook that knowledge away for the moment and evaluated the situation.

"Logic Viking," I thought to myself.

I'd seen only _one_ being fight directly against a 3,000-year-old vampire and win, and that had been Sookie Stackhouse. The light in her hands had shot Russell across the fucking parking lot. But, then again, Russell had been injured at the time.

I closed my eyes tighter and prayed to gods I'd not spoken to in a millennium. "Please let him come after _me_ and _not_ her," I spoke to myself. "And if he does go for her, please let that power she has been gaining be strong enough to protect her when I cannot."

My prayer felt like a shot into the dark—even to me—but it was all I had at the moment. Going to her now would be like putting any extra-large Russell-attracting target onto her. If I stayed away, Russell might too—_at least_ until the elder vampire's desire to kill me was sated.

I assessed the bond again. Still the same. She was still hurting emotionally, but she was still physically safe.

I kept my feet planted. I _couldn't_ go to her, and I _wouldn't_ be able to help her even if I did.

Resolved, I turned around slowly and looked at the two vampires who were waiting for me to speak. I knew—fucking knew—that if I told Bill about Russell, then God himself could not keep him from going to Sookie, but that would take the Authority to her as well, and Bill was even _less_ equipped to handle them or the Russell situation than I was.

And while Nora was an excellent sounding board, she'd be able to do _nothing_ about Russell either—at least not yet. No—I intended to follow Nora's plan, get the fuck out of Dodge, and then arrange for Alcide to send an anonymous tip to the Authority about Russell.

Russell had been buried in cement for over a year and had been resurrected from it for only a day. That meant that he would require some time to heal. I had a window—a narrow timeframe I could use in order to figure out a plan to ensure Sookie's safety. It wouldn't be long—a week at the most—but it was something.

I assessed my bonded. She was still safe.

Bill asked again, this time more insistently. "Eric, what's wrong."

I demonstrated that I had taught my sister _everything_ she ever knew about lying effectively. "It is Pam. She has made a new child." A lie _and_ a truth.

Bill's eyebrow rose. "Why would _Alcide Herveaux_ feel the need to call you to tell you about that?"

In a millisecond, I had thought of a suitable reason—one that _might_ even be true, given what I had felt through my bonds with Pam and Sookie. After all, why else would Pam still be close in proximity to Sookie.

"It was a friend of Sookie's that Pam turned," I reported dispassionately.

"Who?" Bill asked, clearly shocked.

"The female," I ventured. Of course, the guess at gender was fifty-fifty.

"Tara?" Bill exclaimed.

"That's the one," I agreed. I had to think to myself for a moment to remember who Tara was. Oh—_yes_—the unpleasant one. The fireplace poker wielder.

Well, if my lie _were_ true, it would serve Pam right for trying to shoot Sookie with a rocket-launcher.

Bill seemed to accept what I was saying. Hell—even I was starting to believe my lie. It was much less disturbing than the truth. And it _was_ plausible, after all.

"Why would Pam do that? Did she attack Tara?" Bill asked.

"Why does Pam do anything?" I returned enigmatically. "And no."

"I trust that this has upset Sookie," Bill said with concern.

"Yes," I confirmed. "But there is nothing we can do about it now."

Bill nodded in agreement. "This is likely what made her so upset yesterday. Something must have happened to harm Tara. Is Sookie safe?"

"Yes," I said assessing the bond. I decided to fill out my lie a bit, completing the picture I'd been weaving. "Alcide's not sure, but he thinks it was one of the necromancer's witches we'd missed―one looking for revenge. Tara was mortally wounded, and Pam was looking for me at the house. Tara's killer was eliminated, and Tara has been given a new life. Sookie was unharmed." Hell—the scenario sounded _excellent_ to my ears!

Having processed and accepted the story, Bill nodded.

"We should go," Nora said.

I nodded. "Yes."

Nora threw me my shirt. I slipped it on in a flash and then caught my jacket as she threw it as well.

She walked over and whispered to me so that Bill couldn't hear. "This Sookie of yours is always in trouble, I assume?"

I nodded again, even as I checked the bond.

She was still okay. I was still not.

* * *

><p>I stayed mostly quiet as we walked the three miles we needed to cover in order to reach the harbor. Nora had a schedule to keep with her contact, but there was no need to rush. I'd not thought about picking back up where Nora and I had left off in the boxcar. Sex was not even on my radar at that moment.<p>

Only one thing was: Sookie.

The rhythmic music of our boots against the wood and concrete as we traveled was somewhat soothing to me. It made nice background noise for my incessant checking on the bond and Sookie. She remained nervous and hopeful. Alive.

I checked on Pam too. She was pissed off, but also worried and excited. Anxious. I figured that my new "grandchild" had not yet arisen, but I could _feel_ him or her, just the same.

Pam needn't have been worried about her child rising, and in that moment, I felt a little guilty about not being there to let her know that.

I wondered if my new "grandchild" was indeed Tara. I would prefer Lafayette, actually; at least _that_ human was amusing. Gods—I just hoped it was_ not_ Jason Stackhouse. _No one_ needed that boy to be a vampire.

I checked Sookie again. Fine.

As we approached the dock, Nora greeted someone who was obviously her contact as well as a friend.

Nora made introductions, which I honestly cared less about.

The woman she called Kat handed Bill and me new passports. Much to my chagrin, Bill got the serviceable name, "Marcellus Clark." Of course, that left me with "Ike Applebaum."

Ike. Applebaum.

As. If.

Bill smirked. But I would get my revenge on "Mark Clark" soon enough.

The unpleasant woman was telling us that it was time to say goodbye, and I put my connection with Sookie to the side for a moment.

I'd spent less than twenty-four hours with Nora, but I would miss her—miss her more than if I'd spent longer with her. That's how it always had been with us.

I walked over to her and put my hands onto either side of her cool face. She was beautiful, and I cared for her deeply.

**"Take care of yourself,"** she said.

As I leaned in to kiss her goodbye, all hell broke loose! Machine gun fire surrounded us, and all of Nora's contacts evaporated in the way that all vampires did—when they had been hit in the heart with wooden bullets, that is.

I was surprised to discover that I'd not been hit at all. Nor had Bill. Nor had Nora.

All three of us dropped fang and looked up at those firing upon us—not that this action did us any good. But I had always preferred seeing my enemy.

**"In the name of the one true Vampire Authority,"** an annoying and mechanical-sounding voice called out before spewing a bunch of drivel about the Authority's divine right. **"Do not fucking move," **the voice—thankfully—finished.

I _didn't_ move. I knew better than to move. And so did Bill and Nora. We were immediately surrounded and taken into custody.

I checked the bond.

Sookie was still okay. I was not.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: From the show, we didn't know exactly what Alcide told Eric, so I got to "imagine" it! Hope you liked the expanded scene. **

**Best,**

**Kat**

**P.S. I know I'm a day early w/ this, but I might not be at home tomorrow and didn't wanna miss a week. Happy New Year!**


	8. Chapter 8: Torture

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Torture<strong>

Torture—I had experienced _many_ types of it during my long life.

When vampires thought about torturing other vampires, they tended to think of the mundane: silver. It was pathetic really—boring.

Certainly, being silvered hurt like a mother fucker, but the body healed from silver once it was taken away. Plus, the mind could be stronger than any _physical_ pain; in fact, it could be disconnected from that pain. Godric had taught me that. One needed only the right _distraction_ to concentrate upon in order to replace the agony.

A much more effective brand of torture was psychological. The threat of this kind of torture was why vampires cared about so few things. To fear loss would mean that there was something there to lose in the first place.

That is why very few vampires connected themselves closely enough with another to be truly _moved_ by him or her. Even most makers held back a little from their progenies. I know that I had with Pam. To be sure—I loved her in my own way, but that didn't mean that I didn't hold back a little. Godric had taught me that too—the hard way.

Until a year and a half ago, I would have said that my maker was what I feared losing the most.

One time in Istanbul—right around the turn of the fourteenth century—both Godric and I had been captured by a rogue vampire named Seth, a thug looking for more power than he deserved. Seth, who was both clever and cruel, decided that the best method to use in order to find out the information he wanted would be to have Godric and me see each other be tortured.

Indeed, it had almost worked—_almost_. After I had seen Godric's hand be cut off, I had considered telling Seth the location of his enemy, the one who was then employing Godric and myself. For approximately 5.7 seconds—an eternity to a vampire—I had been tempted to squeal.

Godric had seen my wavering look too, and he had never looked at me quite the same way after that—never trusted me quite as much as he had before. That had been the true torture in my estimation. Of course the rogue vampire had never realized that.

No. Conventional torture was too "formal" to be truly painful. Too scripted.

It was the _unscripted_ that could truly hurt, for it could not be prepared for. Three images came to my mind when I thought of the words "torture." One was of my maker ordering me off of a Dallas rooftop. Another was of Sookie Stackhouse's back as she'd left me.

The third was the thought of someone hurting Sookie to get to me.

I assessed my connection with my bonded and found her emotions to be a mixture of fear and anxiety, but there was no pain in her. And I knew from her resolution-which dwelt right next to her other emotions-that she was not in imminent danger.

Maybe not being able to go to Sookie was the greatest torture I would ever feel. No—that wasn't quite right. Not being able to get to her when she was being harmed—_that_ would be my greatest torture. It had hurt me a great deal not to go to her the night before when I'd felt her distress.

To feel her physical pain? Yes—that would be torture.

I just prayed to the gods and goddesses or Lilith or whoever else might be listening that no one would ever find out _that_ little piece of knowledge.

I already feared that Russell suspected how much I cared for Sookie, and that alone was enough to make my dead heart tighten.

Yes. Torture.

* * *

><p>After assessing my bonded woman—okay, not <em>mine<em>—I turned my attention to the five other individuals in the back of the vehicle I assumed was taking me to face certain physical torture.

I kept my sigh to myself as I looked at Nora. Yes—_she_ could be used against me, but I knew that I would not break at the thought of her pain, not like I would with Sookie. I felt like an asshole for admitting that—even to myself—but I also knew it was the truth. If I hadn't broken for Godric, then I would not break for Nora.

Would she break for me? Maybe. But I hoped not.

I smiled ruefully. Suddenly "Ike Applebaum" was looking pretty fucking good. "Pity," I said out loud to no one in particular. The seven other pairs of eyes in the back of the transport zeroed in on me in a flash.

I rolled my own eyes as Bill gave me a questioning look.

"What _exactly_ would an Ike Applebaum do?" I asked anyone who was listening. "Accountant?"

"Undertaker?" Bill smirked.

"Perhaps," I ventured with a smirk of my own. "Taxidermist?"

"Hmm," Bill sounded. "Dentist?"

"I _have_ pulled a few fangs in my time," I observed with a wink at storm trooper #1. "Perhaps the name was a hint that I ought to be working at IKEA."

Getting the joke, Bill chuckled. "Manager—I'm sure."

Nora was looking at both Bill and me as if we were adolescents.

"Shut the fuck up," came the voice of storm trooper #2.

I rolled my eyes again. I was already slightly pissed that storm trooper #1 had a gun trained on my chest. The little red light marking its target lay over my heart—_dead_ over it. It was annoying and fucking insulting—to tell the truth! After all, if I wanted to, I could dodge a single shooter, even at this range.

It was the twenty in the bus that was following us that I figured I would have the trouble with. I inhaled deeply. Between our vehicle, the bus, and one other SUV that was leading our little convoy, I smelled thirty-two Authority soldiers—mostly vampires, though there were a couple of Weres in the mix, too.

Was I dumb enough to let myself fall for a fairy-human hybrid who didn't want me? Yeah.

Was I dumb enough to go up against thirty-two soldiers—none of whom would lose any sleep if I was no more? _No_. A vampire had the draw the "stupid line" somewhere. I might be in a clusterfuck now, but—at least—I was still alive inside of that clusterfuck, and that was something to build from.

I took a look at Bill. Since I'd met the Southern "gentleman," I'd had a range of emotions about him—most of which were negative. Lately, however, Bill had managed to pull himself _mostly_ out of the "douche" column and land himself into the "_almost_ trusted associate" column. I just hoped that Bill would stay there and not prove himself a douche once again by succumbing to the torture we were about to face.

Unfortunately, the jury was still out on Bill, but—if I had to bet—I would bet on him not being a douche.

Fingers crossed.

Bill had matured much over the years—not that his psychotic maker had helped with that at all.

However, Bill had withstood Lorena and come out alive at the other end. And he'd retained some sanity and honor to boot, and for that, I had to respect him—at least to a certain extent. After our first meeting at Pam's brothel near the turn of the previous century, I had been tempted to end the young vampire's life.

Hell—knowing Lorena even casually, I figured it would have been a _mercy_ to any child of hers to grant him or her the true death.

But, even then, I'd admired the young vampire's loyalty and strength. And there had been something in Bill's eyes that had betrayed his misery. Perhaps, I had let Bill live out of the hope that he could find the strength to kill his maker. After all, that would have done the vampire community a huge favor.

But that was not to be.

I couldn't help but to feel a pang of guilt as I thought about how I'd invited Lorena to "the rodeo"—so to speak—in Dallas. And Bill's deranged maker had caused Sookie pain before my beloved managed to kill her. I'd not intended for Sookie to be harmed—at least, not beyond being disentangled from Compton—but it had happened anyway.

I knew firsthand that intention and consequence didn't always match up.

After all, I'd not _intended_ to fall in love with a fairy-human hybrid either, but here I was.

I closed my eyes. Said fairy-human was still the same—still alive, though clearly still hurting.

I shook my head to try to clear it.

It had been eighty years after that night at Pam's establishment that I had next heard anything about Bill Compton. I'd been in the court of Sophie-Anne Leclerq, attending one of her useless, insipid functions. I almost groaned, remembering how the queen had been into Scrabble at the time. My ex-queen had been amused when Bill had asked to be in her court, mostly because of a longtime feud she'd had with Lorena, which had started over the King of Idaho, or had it been Iowa? I hadn't given a fuck then, and I still didn't give a fuck.

Sophie-Anne had gone on and on about how Bill had been able to manipulate Lorena so that he could gain his freedom. He'd managed to convince her that the only way they could _truly_ be together as "soul mates" was if she freed him. The fact that she'd had to keep him in a silver coffin for the last two years that they were together—just so that he wouldn't meet the sun, despite her maker's command that he not—was a testament to both Bill's desire and commitment to get away from her. Yes—I thought—Bill _could_ withstand the torture of the Authority. He'd been through worse.

I looked at Nora once more. Fear and desperation flashed into her eyes as she looked at the back door of the transport as if she wanted to make a suicidal attempt to escape. Her fear—I understood. But I wondered for a moment where the desperation was coming from. When she looked back my way, her expression was—for lack of a better word—_troubled_. Was she concerned that she might fold under torture in order to protect me? With my eyes, I begged her not to, but I realized that I was no longer sure about her, and that uncertainty surprised me.

The transport pulled up in front of a warehouse that looked abandoned. From the smell of the twelve Weres and vampires patrolling the building, I knew better.

After being unceremoniously removed from the vehicle, I took in the area before being led inside. Nope—there would be _no_ fucking escape from here. I sighed. Instead of escape, I would have to use all the guile I'd learned during my thousand years of life to even stand a chance of getting out of this place alive.

As we walked further into the warehouse, I registered that Nora was speaking to a lovely vampire, whom she called Salome.

I knew of Salome—both from myth and a bit from my sister.

Even as Nora assured the vampiress that she would never betray the Authority and that Bill and I could be valuable if we were kept alive, I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Salo-fucking-me!" I thought to myself, even as I put a fucking clamp on my expression. This was just fucking _great_! If Salome were there, that would mean that the Guardian _himself_ was there too. Yep—our chances of being dealt the true death had just risen about tenfold.

After turning away from Nora, Salome, who was rumored to have seduced over 10,000 humans and vampires, turned her attention onto Bill and myself. After looking at her more closely, I figured that the number of her "victims" was probably an underestimation—a gross one.

"**Mr. Northman,"** Salome addressed me,** "you're taller than I had expected."**

I kept my tone light, **"I get that a lot."**

"**Ah, life **_**is**_** full of surprises. Isn't it?"** Salome remarked.

"Indeed," I thought to myself, even as I wondered how long it would take for the vampiress in front of me to try to seduce me. I figured that her seduction would come on the heels of my torture—_if_ I were still alive after that. The only question was: Would I take her up on it? I didn't want to—for a variety of reasons. But I might _have_ to—for more pressing reasons.

Such as staying the fuck alive!

I tapped into my bond with Sookie.

Nora was denying her betrayal again when I felt an especially powerful jolt of fear from Sookie. I flinched just as Nora was slapped by Salome; Bill gave me a look that told me to calm the fuck down.

With difficulty, I managed to school my features again. I assessed Sookie more fully. Despite that jolt, I knew that she was not in grave danger or in physical pain. It was clear that both Salome and Bill thought that my reaction was from Nora being slapped, and I realized that I would be able to use that misperception—when the time was right.

However, I'd have to be careful not to overplay my hand. I gave Bill a little nod to let him know that I was in control of my emotions.

Salome led us to an elevator and used her bloody thumbprint to clear security before leading us into a room she called "reception." Actually, as I looked around the room, it seemed more like a cross between a set-piece from _Men in Black_ and a cheesy office building from the 1960's.

I looked at the walls and noticed several portraits of the current Guardian, one of which looked to have been painted by a Flemish master—no make that an Italian master, given the light used in the piece. I'd wager on Caravaggio, probably around 1609 or so—right around the time that he was painting _Salome with the Head of John the Baptist_. Yep—that would definitely fit. "Well," I thought to myself, "at least the pair—Salome and Roman—had verve."

From "reception," we were taken down to an _impressive_ row of silver-lined cells. I couldn't help but to notice that the guards were roughest on Nora—likely a display designed to get another rise out of me.

After being pushed into my own cell, I sat down heavily onto the most uncomfortable "bed" I'd ever been on throughout my thousand years, and I'd been alive since before there were beds!

"They must make these purposely uncomfortable," I remarked, talking to no one in particular. Still, I lay down and let my mind move to Sookie so that I could feel her fully.

Resolve. Hope. _Planning_.

With difficulty, I stopped myself from getting an erection. If my Sookie—okay, not _mine_—was planning, then that meant that she was looking hot as hell in that moment. Her bottom lip was probably being bitten. Her eyebrows were probably brought together just so. Her eyes were probably alit with whatever idea her clever mind was churning around. Yes. I had to work very hard to not get hard at the thought of Sookie in "planning mode."

More importantly, her emotions meant that Sookie was safe; in fact, her fear was almost completely gone now. I couldn't help but to be bolstered a bit.

"**So—any ideas?"** I asked from my reclined position.

"**Not really,"** Bill answered, looking around the cell for a way out. I could have already told him that there would be none.

"**Shhh,"** Nora sounded.

I wanted to roll my eyes. _Of course_, I knew "they" were fucking listening!

An eerie voice stopped me from teasing my sister.

"**A little different on this side of the bars—isn't it, Nora?"** the voice asked.

"**A friend of yours?"** I asked.

"**Nigel Beckford,"** the little man introduced himself.

Right after Nora had informed us that Beckford had a propensity for eating babies, a voice over an intercom_ welcomed_ us. I tuned out the almost sing-songy voice as I checked in on Sookie. She was still okay.

Bill was insisting on Nora's innocence, saying that she was _his_ prisoner. I knew that no one would buy that lie, but at least it gave us all a story to stick to.

The voice reminded us of the people who were trying to help Bill and me to leave the state. He asked where we were heading, and I had to stop myself from snarking out "IKEA."

Instead I answered with the truth, **"No idea." **

Again Bill was trying to be gallant, as he asked for Nora and my release. I had to hand it to the Civil War veteran. He _did_ have balls. Bill insisted that Nora and I were following his "royal" orders.

Of course, the voice knew that Bill was lying. And, of course, that meant that "Phase One" of the torture was about to begin.

I sighed as baby-eater Nigel yelled out, **"Uh—you just fucked us!"**

Well—I thought with _some_ satisfaction—at least one person in the cells would deserve being tortured that night.

Nora was already scrambling to protect her body. **"The U.V.'s!"** she cried anticipating the pain.

I knew that the pain was coming too. And when it did come, it reminded me of the pain I'd felt as I'd burned alongside Russell Edgington in the sun.

_Yes_—torture _did_ always hurt.

That was torture's job, after all. To hurt.

I sank to my knees and, by instinct, I drew my coat over my face to try to protect my exposed skin. But even as I did that, an image of Sookie came into my mind; she was dragging me into Fangtasia―dragging me to safety.

Gods, I loved her.

The U.V. light was shut off for a moment, but not long enough to allow for any healing. No—I knew that the temporary reprieve was designed just so that we would _anticipate_ the next burst of U.V. light. The second one lasted longer and, therefore, "hurt" more.

But I didn't feel the pain. Instead I took myself into the sun _voluntarily_ and remembered myself swimming in the little lake near Sookie's home.

Yes—torture could be a bitch, but because I would always now associate the sun with the moment I'd seen Sookie's hair glistening in its light even as I'd felt its heat warming the water, the sun would _never_ be able to harm me again.

Not really.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So-again-a lot is being added b/c I wanted to give a context for the torture that follows this. I also wanted to show that Eric's seeing a crack or two in the Nora foundation. I loved Salome's "introduction" in the show, but I hate that they eventually made her and Nora into fanatics. I would have loved to have seen a different directions, but I'm working w/ what we got. **

**Until the next chapter,**

**Kat**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**


	9. Ch 9: Enhanced Interrogation Techniques

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Enhanced Interrogation Techniques<strong>

A thousand years had taught me many things about interrogation by torture. I'd been on both ends of the spectrum—the torturer and the tortured. I'd also observed others performing torture. By watching Godric's work, I'd literally learned from the best—so to speak.

There were six rules when it came to effective torture—or "enhanced interrogation techniques" as George W. Bush had so amusingly called them.

Rule one about torture was that the torturer always hurt the torture-ee. _Always_. Even if the one being tortured started singing like a canary before the first infliction of pain, there was _no way_ to avoid what was coming.

Simply put, if you talked too soon, your captor would think you knew more or were lying. Moreover, once someone bothered to set up a scene like the one I found myself in right then—tied down to a chair with a tube attached to my arm and a purposely menacing-looking machine holding some kind of liquid silver—the torturer was _going_ to use it.

It would be a damned waste not to!

Plus, premature squealers were such a disappointment that they deserved a little pain—even in the unlikely event that they'd already spilled their whole story.

Rule two was that the torture would _never_ kill you—not unless your torturers were inept or inexperienced. And as Salome got herself comfortable and gave me a look that bounced back and forth between compassion and intrigue, I knew that I was working with a torturer who was very, _very_ practiced. There were many kinds of torturers; the best always threw a little seductiveness into the process. Indeed, if I had to be tortured, having it done by Salome would _at least_ make it tolerable. It would be a story for the grandkids—so to speak.

Though it wasn't as much comfort as one might think, I _knew_ that Salome was not there to kill me; that option wouldn't be on the table unless the Authority members felt that I had nothing more to tell them—and nothing of value to offer them. Torture was designed to _break_ a person—not to kill him or her. If the Guardian truly wanted me dead, I would _already_ be that way. Hell—there had been garbage bags full of Nan in plain sight when Bill and I were apprehended! And why kill the others on the dock, but not Nora, Bill, and myself? The answer was clear: The Guardian didn't want us dead—not _yet_ at least. No—Roman still felt there was information to be gotten, and he'd sent his best asset—the vampiress who had been his consort for approximately 700 years—to get that information from me.

I was flattered.

Rule three about torture was that once a person began to talk, he or she would end up saying _everything_. Most thought that they could give a little snippet of information—just enough to get them off the hook or to stop the pain. But that was a misconception. That little piece of information was the opening that every good torturer looked for. The trick—then—to not giving away any information was to think about the _worst_ thing that could be betrayed. In my case, that was easy. I was currently checking on that "worst" thing—Sookie—even as I studied Salome.

I knew what would happen to my once-bonded if the Authority learned about her. And it wasn't "pretty" knowledge. No. If I said _one_ thing—_just one_—it would eventually lead to my saying _all_, and I would literally spill my guts about Sookie. And _that_ could not happen—_would not happen_.

No—there was never an "in between" with torture. Once a person broke, there was no going back.

_None_.

Rule four about torture was that the information one got during _physical_ coercion was often fabrication, and every torturer worth his or her mettle knew this. That's why—over the years—I had discovered that there were other ways, _better_ _ways_, to go about getting information. Psychological torture was _much_ more effective than physical—if one had the time to set it up properly.

Take Lafayette Reynolds, for instance. When I had caught Sookie's friend red-handed selling V, I'd initially had two options. I could have glamoured the man so that he would never sell V or take V again, or I could have simply killed him. Most sheriffs would have chosen the latter option—an option that was "encouraged" by the Authority. But the appearance and attitude of Mr. Reynolds had amused me from the start. One didn't often find flamboyant openly gay black men in backwoods Louisiana, so I had planned to simply glamour the man.

That is—until I smelled that the blood in Lafayette's possession belonged to a missing vampire in my area. The blood was from a useless, sniveling vampire who should never have been made, but it was still my responsibility to find out what had happened to him.

Glamour produced no clear answers from Lafayette, and since the man worked with Sookie, I knew that I could not use her gift to get the information I needed—though I would have asked for her assistance otherwise. I had to fight to hold back a little smile. My Sookie—okay, not _mine_—was like an anti-torture device. She could find out information using her gift, and that negated the need for physical interrogation. But she would have _never_ betrayed her friend—even if that had meant lying to me. So I'd had to use more "conventional" methods—at least conventional for me.

However, I'd not wanted to torture Lafayette physically. No—I'd done far worse than to break his body. Leaving him chained up in the dank basement for days had been well on its way to breaking his spirit. Then, once I had allowed Lafayette to witness me literally ripping apart one of the arsonists who had burned Malcolm's nest, he had truly become terrified. A few love-bites from Pam, Chow, and me had sealed the deal—so to speak—and I had learned that Lafayette had been trying to protect Jason Stackhouse, whom Lafayette suspected had been involved in the vampire's disappearance. Lafayette's being shot was because of Ginger's ineptitude. But things had turned out well enough in the end. Yes—I was glad that I'd not killed Lafayette. He had been useful _and_ amusing.

A great argument for his continued existence.

I once more hoped that it had been Lafayette whom Pam had turned.

I sighed and looked over at Salome. She'd been staring at me for a good five minutes―saying nothing, doing nothing, barely moving. I'd used this technique before, and I couldn't help but to wish that she'd just get a move on. It wasn't as if a thousand-year-old Viking vampire was going to cave from a stare-down!

In fact, her behavior bordered on insulting, which—come to think of it—was her likely purpose for it.

I used the continued silence to check Sookie through our bond again. She was apprehensive, but otherwise okay. I steeled myself. Bonded only once, she would not feel the pain I was about to endure, and that was a blessing—for us both.

* * *

><p><strong>"It's wonderful to be a vampire, isn't it?"<strong> Salome finally spoke.

I almost rolled my eyes. Ah—Salome was going to try to be a "good cop" as she worked.

"**Generally, yes,"** I intoned. **"Right now? Not so much."**

She looked at me seductively. I admired her skill to be convincing in her role.

She spoke, **"If you give me your **_**full**_** cooperation, not only will we not need the silver, but you—you'll leave here a free man. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for your—um—your **_**accomplice**_**," **she paused,** "Nora."**

I had been right. Salome would be trying to use Nora to get to me. I knew that my sister would also be facing pain, but there was nothing I could do for her other than to keep my mouth shut. My talking would only hurt her and lead to worse things for us all.

I smirked, **"She won't leave here 'a free **_**man**_**?'"**

Salome let out a little laugh, but I could tell she didn't mean it. That was good—actually. I had spent a millennium enjoying being a smartass whenever I could. Indeed, Pam had learned from the best.

I realized in that moment that "sarcastic, smartass Eric" would be the perfect part of myself to stick with during my session with Salome, for it obviously flustered her to a certain extent. Her frustration only became clearer with her next words.

**"Her betrayal was unforgiveable; she met the true death,"** Salome reported, as if she was sorry about it.

I thought of many things in the split second that followed. Rule number five of torture was that the torturer _never_ told the truth, so I knew that Nora was not dead. However, I also knew something else. Someone being tortured _could_ have an active role—rather than just be a passive participant—in the process.

And I'd always preferred to be active.

I was _certain_ that Salome had seen my flinch the previous night when she'd slapped Nora. Of course, she couldn't have known that my reaction was coincidental; I'd felt a strong jolt of fear from my bonded at that moment. If that had not been the case, then I would have been able to hold my countenance steady.

I intuited that it was now time to use Salome's misconception to my advantage. Even though it was likely "wrong," I determined that I would pretend that Nora was the most important being in my un-dead life. That would keep Salome from trying to find something or _someone_ that she could use to get a _real_ reaction out of me.

That decision made, I "reacted" subtly to the mention of Nora's supposed death—in order to pull some strings of my own. If I was lucky, Salome would assume that Nora and I were merely lovers. If I was _very_ lucky, Salome might somehow already know that Nora and I were related through Godric. That connection would explain Nora's motivation for helping me better than anything else. And it might even get Nora off the hook. She'd be expelled from the Authority—no doubt—but she'd likely be able to keep her undead life. But, of course, _I_ couldn't be the source of that information.

Salome was waiting for her opening, and she was certain she'd just found it—in my "agitation" over Nora being "dead." She moved closer. The compassion was back in her eyes and in her voice. **"I know this must **_**pain**_** you."** She paused. **"I'm sorry." **Another pause.** "But you **_**must**_** understand that noncooperation will not be tolerated."**

I figured that Salome would strike while she thought I was vulnerable with emotion, so I knew what was coming next: a question I wouldn't answer and then the beginning of the physical pain. One had to admire Salome's grace in going through the choreography, however.

**"Now," **she asked, **"was it you or Mr. Compton who murdered Nan Flanagan?"**

There were so many things that I _could_ have said in that moment. I _could_ have reminded Salome that the Authority was most likely ecstatic that Nan had been eliminated. Nan's feeding habits did not work well with the image she was trying to portray, and she was _too_ visible. A scandal involving Nan would have been very damaging to the AVL, which was Roman's brainchild and pet-project. _Plus_, Nan was a bitch. She wouldn't be missed.

I _could_ have told Salome that I'd wished to hell it would have been me who had killed Nan. I _could_ have said that I'd been relegated to storm trooper duty while the king got the honor. I _could_ have said a great many things, but I decided to go back to the sarcasm.

**"Nan Flanagan is dead?"** I asked, making sure I added a twinkle to my eye, just to increase Salome's consternation. Indeed―I thought―torture didn't have to be _all_ bad. Salome's reaction was amusing.

Salome stood up, turned her back to me, and started up the silver drip with a flourish. Again, I had to admire her panache.

_Of course_, the silver hurt like hell. Injecting it into the blood was certainly more painful than having it applied to the body, but pain was all relative. Godric had taught me long ago to have my _distraction_ ready—ready _before_ the first pain was inflicted. The moment I'd seen that it was silver to be used, I'd known what my distraction was going to be.

Even as the silver jetted into my arm and burned my blood, I thought of Sookie placing silver over my body because she _loved_ me—because she wanted to protect me from the necromancer. That too had hurt, maybe not quite as bad as what I was facing now, but it _had_ hurt. Significantly, Sookie had stayed with me all day and had even helped to hold me down when the witch had begun her spell. She'd _cared_ for me. She'd spent that day in the cubby just talking to me and holding me. She'd reminded me that she'd seen me under silver before—when I was willing to give up my life for Godric and her. After a while, the pain of the silver had been _nothing_ compared to the sound of Sookie's soothing voice and the feeling of her body lying against mine.

But the best part of the day had been when Sookie had drifted off into a nap for about fifteen minutes. Her breathing had evened out and her heartbeat had slowed and strengthened. In her sleep, she had snuggled into my cold body like it was the most comfortable pillow in the world. She had sighed in contentment and then drooled onto my shirt.

It had been beautiful.

A memory could be a powerful thing, and my memory of that day—and that silver—was the perfect distraction to my current pain.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, I had received about half of the silver in the canister. The questioning had continued, and Salome was really quite gifted in the way she combined compassion, seduction, righteous indignation, understanding, and anger into the session. I had learned a few tricks by watching her. She wasn't up to snuff compared to Godric in his heyday, but she was certainly above average. I would give her an A-, no a B+.<p>

Of course, I had continued to play the smartass whenever I wanted to fluster her. And I'd looked adequately "upset" every time Salome had told me that Nora was dead or dying or in pain. I was putting on a lovely performance—if I did say so myself. The pain had sucked—certainly—but my body was holding up nicely.

Unexpectedly, Salome's questions had quickly moved from Nan to the Sanguinistas, a group which I knew was trying to undermine the Guardian and reinstate the Vampire Bible as the ultimate Authoritative Law for vampires. In short, they wanted to supplant the Authority and go back to the "good old days" when humans were seen as mere cattle. They literally wanted to "rule the world" and to turn humans into slaves, breeding the best of them for blood. It was a barbaric idea, and even though I had little time for humans for the most part, I had even less time for radical fanatics, who had probably watched _The Matrix_ as if it were a field-guide for controlling humanity.

No—I had very little tolerance for radicals. I'd learned during my long life that _balance_ was key. Humanity and vampires needed to negotiate a balance of power that would work for both groups. And then Weres could be brought in, and a new balance would be established in time. I knew that one group having all the control would lead to unacceptable unrest for the others. And that would make war inevitable, and war was bad for business. Oh—it was fun to pull out the ol' sword every once in a while and play, but _true_ war was no fun at all.

The "Viking Way" had stuck with me over the years; it was based on sound logic, after all. Raid when you had to in order to take what you needed or eliminate enemies before they could mount an attack against you. After raiding, get the fuck out and disappear into the night. Use the resources you'd taken from the raid to bolster your own defenses so that no one could get the upper hand on you. And, most importantly of all, don't get fucking greedy!

Greed for territory stretched one's resources too thin. Greed for materials made one forget that family and honor were paramount. Greed for pleasure made one get sloppy and slow. Greed for power led to having a bigger target put on your own back.

By my estimation, the Sanguinistas were too fucking greedy, and—clearly—the Guardian was _legitimately_ worried about them. But why would he think Bill and I were a part of that? He had to suspect that Nora was a Sanguinista, but unless my sister had changed _much_ over the years, I didn't think she could be. Sure—she hated anything she viewed as unjust; however, she'd never been particularly radical. Plus, she'd taken her concern for humanity even into her undead life.

However, it _was_ possible, that Nora was sympathetic to _some_ of the Sanguinistas' ideas. I knew that she believed in Lilith and saw the supposed-first vampire as a figure to try to emulate in many ways. She also believed that the creator—God—was a vampire. And she was quite spiritual in her own way; Godric had been the same way.

There was something else to consider, too. In her grief following Godric's death, could have an adrift Nora been manipulated into becoming a radical Sanguinista? Keeping my personal feelings about my sister out of the equation, I let my mind examine that possibility from all angles.

Unlike her and Godric, I had never been one to dwell on the mystical. I was too practical for that. Plus, even after a thousand years, I still liked the Viking version of things best. _Yes_—I thought—if there was a god, he or she was sure to be a Viking. And I was still holding out a little hope for Valhalla, too. Indeed, that version of the afterlife had always sounded fucking amazing to me!

I closed my eyes as Salome paced the room. Yes. Valhalla _would_ be splendid. Only men and women of honor would end up there. I pictured Sookie before me in a white, flowing gown—with the light of the sun and purple flowers in her hair. If there was a god who was benevolent enough to provide an afterlife, I hoped this would be mine.

As Salome resettled herself on top of the little table and tried another stare-down, I once more checked on the object of my fantasy. Her emotions had returned to sorrow, but she was steady and calm. I was relieved.

I examined my torturer. She had not covered her own worries as well as she may have wanted to. She had let on that Roman was concerned about the rise of the Sanguinista movement, and I knew that I could use that, for I had an ace in the hole: Russell Edgington.

Russell could become the Sanguinista poster boy, after all. And he was older than any member of the Authority as far as I knew. The threat of a crazed Russell running around might just get Bill and me out of this mess _if_ we played our cards right. Bill and I would make excellent bait to draw Russell out, and then, if the Authority didn't fuck things up, we could kill Russell once he came out into the open—hopefully _before_ he was back at full strength.

Killing Russell would accomplish two positive things in my eyes. First, it would ingratiate Bill and me to the Authority; they would owe us one. Hopefully, that "one" would be our lives—_if_ we survived Russell, that is. But, more importantly, if Russell were dead, then that would mean he couldn't harm Sookie.

Salome broke the silence she'd been holding for the last few minutes—ever since she'd asked me a question about the Sanguinistas, and I'd asked her if that was a new Latin boy-band. Salome had _not_ taken that comment so well, so I had gotten the silent treatment for a while.

Her voice dripped with false concern. **"I'm afraid Mr. Compton doesn't have your backbone. He's been freed. And in return for his cooperation, he'll be reinstated as king. In light of that, is there—is there anything you'd like to say?"**

Again, there was a lot I _could_ say. I _could_ say that if Bill really had told them everything he knew and had compromised Sookie, hell itself wouldn't stop my sword from taking Bill's head. I _could_ say that the color Salome was wearing was not that flattering, but that her breasts looked nice nonetheless. I _could_ say that the new silver technique they were using was the best I'd ever experienced, and I _could_ ask for its "recipe."

But I settled for something classic and classy. **"Long live the king."**

I almost chuckled at the predictability of Salome's reaction. Yep—time for more silver.

Before the pain even hit my body, I was already back into my _distraction_. The silver still stung like a son of a bitch, of course, but the memory of Sookie's tender touch easily negated that pain.

Yes. There were _six_ rules of effective torture. Number six? _Never_ let the one you are torturing take the upper hand.

Sadly for Salome, she seemed to know only the first five rules.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This was my favorite chapter to write the first time (I know. Sick-huh?). It was still one of my favorites to revise. LOL. Not much changed in this version, but I hope you still enjoyed re-reading. **

**Best,**

**Kat **


	10. Chapter 10: Masochism

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: Masochism<strong>

I was dragged back to my uncomfortable "bed" after Salome had pumped the last of the silver into my arm. After a round of the U.V. light for no other reason than good measure, I was left alone to listen to the disturbed ramblings of Nigel. But I worked to stay both alert to and disconnected from my surroundings. It was a talent to do so, but I was good at it.

As Nigel droned on and on about the infants themselves being to blame for his attraction to their blood, I concentrated on my own blood within Sookie. She seemed more _concerned_ than anything else—almost as if she was looking for something. I wondered—just for a moment—if it might be me. Underneath all of her other emotions, after all, I continued to feel her longing―her discontent. And I knew that was the bond _pulling_ at her; her resistance to it would only make her more and more miserable. Hell—if it made her even half as miserable as it was making me, then she was in for a hell of a breakdown soon.

Of course, there was a part of me that welcomed that misery. Perhaps I was a masochist.

I sighed. However much I wanted to feel our bond—even if it were just to experience the ache of it—I didn't want Sookie to feel any more pain. I wished that I could take it all away from her like a white knight in a fairy tale, but I was _not_ her desired hero. It was, perhaps, my destiny to be the villain in her story.

Despite that, I checked our bond again. And—again—I felt Sookie's almost desperate need to search for and to find something. I knew that, no matter what she was looking for, it wouldn't help her find what she truly needed. Her blood called to me, as mine called to her now. Until our bond faded—_if_ it ever did, given the fact that she was a fairy—we would _both_ always be "missing" something. However, she had no idea what that "something" was. Of course, if I met the true death—as I could very well do soon—then she'd be off the hook after about a week of unexplained illness; she'd probably think it was the flu.

I gave my head a rueful shake and kept monitoring my bonded as Nigel continued rambling. For a moment, I contemplated trying to escape—rattling some cages—just so that the U.V. lights would be used and Nigel would shut the fuck up.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, I registered that Bill was being returned to his cell. Like me, he too was deposited unceremoniously into his cell. And then there was another "obligatory" blast of the U.V. light.<p>

Of course, I was ready for it and had already slipped into my handy Sookie-laced distraction. If I were a lesser vampire, I might feel ashamed of using the woman who had spurned me as my go-to fantasy to overcome the pain of being tortured. But I was too practical for that. Before she'd rejected me, I'd _always_ intended to use Sookie for _all_ of my needs―fantasy or not. And she was _definitely_ handy for a distraction, even if that distraction did hurt my heart just as much—_no more_—than the torture hurt my body.

"I truly wonder if I'm becoming masochistic," I remarked out loud to no one in particular.

"Why?" came Bill's voice. "Did you enjoy being tortured this evening as much as I did?"

I chuckled at the sarcasm in Bill's voice.

"I was told you had _no_ backbone and dripped information like a leaky faucet," I reported.

"Yes," Bill returned, "And _apparently_, you turned on me within the first five minutes of interrogation. Really, Eric, I thought so much more _highly_ of you before I learned that."

"Yes," I observed. "I _did_ rat you out rather quickly. And soon I will be living the good life—free to roam the earth for another thousand years. The Authority has also given me a harem of virgins for all the information I have given them."

"Ah," Bill answered sarcastically. "Only a harem? I was offered _all_ the virgins in Louisiana."

"Damn!" I snarked. "I should have held out for more. Then again, are we really sure how many virgins there are left in Louisiana? I will take the _surer_ thing."

The two of us shared a chuckle.

A few minutes later, Bill looked over at me, his expression serious, "You okay?"

"Nothing that a hundred-year vacation encased in _cement_ wouldn't cure," I responded. My tone was light, but my eyes held _much_ meaning in them.

Bill's eyebrow rose, and I gave my ex-monarch an almost-imperceptible nod. I knew that my words might seem strange to those who were certainly listening in, but those individuals would be unable to decipher my words as anything other than sarcasm. And Bill—hopefully—would understand them.

After a moment, the Civil War veteran nodded back, and I knew that he had, indeed, apprehended what we were _really_ talking about.

Bill spoke jokingly though his eyes held no mirth. "Do not give them any ideas, Eric. I would not want to find myself _buried_ in cement tomorrow evening. Why the chaffing alone would be _quite_ unpleasant."

"You're right, and I imagine it would be difficult to get cement out of one's hair," I remarked casually. "_Plus_, cement would _not_ hold us for long, and then our tormentors would have to come up with another plan anyway."

Bill's eyes flashed with fear for a second, and I knew that the younger vampire had understood my message. Russell had escaped. I just hoped that Bill would have the presence of mind to help me to make sure that we could use that knowledge to our advantage. From the determined look in Bill's eyes, I decided that I should trust my erstwhile monarch.

"Where's Nora?" Bill asked a few minutes later, though his voice didn't betray any concern.

"Well," I said calmly, "I was told that she was killed, I was told that she was being tortured, I was told that she was being flayed alive, I was told that she'd confessed that we were _all_ Sanguinistas and then had been let go, I was told that she was a spy sent to infiltrate our kingdom, and I was told that she was the Energizer bunny. I am not sure which one to believe."

Bill chuckled. "I was told all that as well—except I believe it was the _Easter_ Bunny."

We looked at each other and said at the same time, "Bunnicula!" We both laughed.

"_Very_ amusing," a voice came from the intercom above us.

"Ah, Dieter Braun," Bill said into the air, making gestures toward the intercom and then me. "Mr. Braun, I do not know if you have met my sheriff, Eric Northman of Area 5. Eric, this is Dieter Braun, my tormenter for the evening."

"Guten Abend," I spoke toward the intercom receiver as I bowed my head a little. "Perhaps I will have the _honor_ of your interrogation tomorrow. Salome was a _lovely_ companion tonight, but I like a little diversity."

With that, another wave of U.V. light struck us.

After taking a few minutes to recover, Bill and I looked at each other and laughed again.

"Apparently we are _both_ masochists now," Bill remarked.

"Well, I hear it _is_ catching."

"Obviously."

"And it is a _convenient_ time for it," I replied.

Bill lifted his eyebrow in question. "Convenient?"

"Yes—since we are in a building full of sadistic bastards with twitchy trigger fingers when it comes to U.V. light and liquid silver."

There was another blast of the light.

After a few more minutes, Bill spoke. "Yes—_very_ convenient."

Again, Bill and I laughed heartily.

Nigel whimpered from the corner of his bed. "And_ I_ am called the insane one?"

Bill and I laughed harder.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later, a group of storm troopers came to collect Bill and me. Black hoods were draped over our heads, and our hands were cuffed in front of us with silver chains. Luckily, those chains had been encased in rubber so that the silver did not sear our skin. Still they could not be broken through.<p>

I knew that, as we were led down a series of corridors that could best be described as a maze, it could mean only one thing: it was time to see the Guardian. In truth, this step was happening sooner than I had thought it would, and that meant that the Authority must truly be afraid of imminent action by the Sanguinistas, which played _perfectly_ into my plans. I just hoped that Bill would be ready to play his part.

* * *

><p>I had never met Roman Zimojic before, but Godric had.<p>

After the new Guardian had been named in 1506, Godric had told me all that he knew about him. Roman was powerful and ambitious—as well as egotistical. And Godric had both liked and disliked the new Guardian.

He'd liked that Roman had always had a "vision," and that vision was to make sure that vampires could have the _best_ lives possible. Over time, Roman had conceptualized "the mainstream movement." Godric had been much more overtly supportive of Roman's plan to mainstream, whereas I had been ambivalent. However, I had invested heavily in the creation of TrueBlood and had made a small fortune off of it. Of course, that was just good business.

Whether vampires came "out of the coffin" or not, I had known that I'd do fine. I had always been adaptable and ready to change when need be. I was also patient enough to let the world change around me when that was the best move.

I had made _many_ fortunes over the years, so when mainstreaming had become inevitable, I'd prepared myself for it just like I'd prepared myself for other evolutions throughout time. I'd prepared like a businessman, but I'd kept my sword sharp just in case.

I'd had Fangtasia ready to open one night after the Great Reveal. After all, human-vampire relations ventures like my club were "new" and, therefore, interesting to me; however, I would have found other things to occupy my time if vampires had remained concealed. I always had.

Roman had been a visionary—and a practical one too. And for that, I admired him. He had understood that vampires would not be able to remain concealed due to the advances in human technology. Hell—the Guardian had foreseen those advances more than fifty years before when he'd first commissioned the development of a blood substitute.

And Roman had been crafty _and_ patient in implementing his plan to reveal vampires to humans. _Yes_—I could admire the Guardian's business acumen, just as Godric had always done. Because of Roman's slow introduction of the concept, very few vampires had resisted mainstreaming—at least not until the rise of the Sanguinistas.

And for the few who did resist it? Well—Roman was _also_ a ruthless dictator when he needed to be.

Despite Roman's admirable qualities, Godric had disliked him too. He'd found the Guardian to be too arrogant and too quick to kill _all_ of his opposition. Godric was always one to listen to his opposition and try to learn from them. He'd kill them only if necessary.

Roman, on the other hand, could not abide voices that too greatly differed from his own.

As Guardian, Roman had done much to make the lives of vampires easier, but I figured that he still hated _true_ opposition. He might give lip-service to the notion that he would "listen" to the other Chancellors of the Authority, but there were many rumors that he _always_ did what _he_ wanted no matter what the others counseled. Indeed, Nora had hinted to that fact more than once.

* * *

><p>Bill and I were led into a room that—based on the air flow—was quite large. We were both forced to our knees, and then our hoods were yanked off.<p>

Before that had even happened, however, I had smelled Nora. She was alive, and I was glad of it. I figured that Salome would have reported to at least the Guardian that I was "susceptible" to my feelings for Nora, so once the hood came off, I made sure to look at my vampire sister and to show just enough emotion to be noticeable, but not enough to be "too" noticeable.

I knew that Salome and the others were watching.

I could hear the sound of extremely expensive Italian leather shoes hitting the floor behind me.

Italian leather made such a distinctive sound—especially when it was expensive.

The Guardian had good taste.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Originally, this part was in a chapter with the next section, but I like this split better. The Guardian gets a better entrance because I'm letting him start the next chapter. **

**I hope you are still enjoying this revision. **  
><strong>I will be posting two chapters a week (usually Wednesdays and Saturdays) at least until chapter 21 (when I'll be transitioning to totally new stuff). You might be happy to hear that I've drafted <em>Inner<em> through chapter 33! It's not all the way polished yet, but it's going well-thus the increase in chapter frequency!**

**Kat**


	11. Chapter 11: Ritual

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11: Ritual<strong>

Roman walked in from a door behind Bill and me, and though I did not personally know the vampire, I _knew_ what power felt like when it walked into a room. Clearly, Roman was powerful.

He carried a little box in his hands and proceeded to conduct a ritual using a claw-like relic from that box. I had heard of the _Ceremony of Lilith_ before, but I'd never seen it. In truth, I had never had much time for rituals. Still, I watched the proceedings with the curiosity of a thousand-year-old seeing something new. Bill's wonder at the scene was more overt.

Of course, the whole ritual was a contradiction in my mind. The fact that the same Guardian who so fervently believed in coexistence with humans would conduct a ceremony that was designed to connect the members of the Authority with Lilith and the _old_ ways was a paradox. The Sanguinistas held that the Vampire Bible was absolute truth, and they believed in the "divinity" of Lilith as God's daughter. I'm sure that they, too, had "holy relics" like the one Roman was holding, just as I was certain that they conducted similar ceremonies. Yet they were the enemies Roman clearly feared the most.

And _that_—in a nutshell—was why I had never really believed in the efficacy of such rituals. They could be too easily twisted to support the beliefs of almost anyone who wanted to utilize them. At best, that seemed like foolishness to me. At worst, it was hypocrisy.

No—I believed in the power of my hands. I believed in the quickness of my mind. I believed in the advice from my gut. And—as of about a week ago—I believed in the power of the heart to have the ability to trump all else. But I did _not_ believe that Lilith's blood was really on the relic in Roman's hands, and I did _not_ believe that the Authority would be using Lilith's wisdom to deal with Bill and me.

As the ceremony progressed, I noticed that Nora attempted to fall to her knees so that she could take part in it as well, and in that moment, I saw her _differently_ than I'd ever seen her before. I saw a fever in her eyes that I'd never witnessed. I did not know the woman I was looking at now.

As soon as the ritual was over, Roman immediately took on a businessman persona, and I—for one—was grateful for that. A businessman―I _could_ deal with.

**"Mr. Compton,"** Roman began smoothly, as he strolled back toward the conference table. **"Mr. Northman,"** he said a little more stiltedly. I found that interesting. It meant that he understood my strength. It showed that—in a different circumstance—he knew that he might be on his knees in front of me.

Roman continued, **"To meet under these circumstances—it is a shame—one of several recent **_**disappointments**_**."** He glanced back at Nora. **"You think you know somebody. You consider them an ally for centuries. And when they betray you, they won't even tell you **_**why**_**—no matter how **_**persuasive**_** you can be." **Roman had been walking over to Nora and brought his hand up to touch her cheek almost tenderly.

I realized, then, that my sister had been intimate with Roman, but unfortunately, I didn't think that would do her much good now. My theory was proven correct as Nora was dragged toward the door. I was glad that I had been allowing agitation to show concerning Nora—because I truly felt restless as I watched her being manhandled. Whether she was a radical now or not, she was still my sister, and I cared for her. I let my agitation show on my face and in my movements as she was taken from the room yelling out her innocence.

More and more, I was suspecting that she was _not_ innocent, however. Her guilt was like a smell in the air, and I knew that a vampire of Roman's age would sense it too. I sighed, figuring that my sister's days on the earth were likely now more numbered than my own.

I looked down at the floor and quickly assessed my bond with Sookie. She too was agitated over something, but she was safe. I let myself "recover" and looked back up at Roman.

The Guardian was studying me; it was clear that he knew I held great affection for Nora, which had been my aim. However, I also figured that he was unsure about my affiliation with her cause.

**"I'm in a real pickle here, boys,"** Roman said. **"According to Nan Flanagan, you," **he paused and smiled as he gestured toward Bill and me. **"What is it she liked to call you guys? Fuck-up one and fuck-up two."**

I tuned Roman out for a moment as he gave a listing of Bill and my so-called crimes. Frankly, I was offended at being termed 'fuck-up _two_.' I'd have thought that I'd be 'fuck-up' number _one_ in Nan's book. I'd certainly striven to be over the years.

I had to hold in my smirk as Roman complained about the cost of keeping the Festival of Tolerance debacle covered up. Okay—I could agree with that one. It _was_ a fuck-up thanks to the necromancer's "visit." Bill should have known better than to hold the festival before she was dealt with.

I almost rolled my eyes as Roman indicated that Nan was not a great prize, but since she was "Authority," he was going to have to "roll some heads"—so to speak. The hypocrisy disgusted me. I now understood Godric's ambivalence regarding Roman.

Indeed—when the Guardian pontificated, **"**_**I**_** am the Authority!"** I knew _exactly_ what my maker had meant. Power and arrogance rolled into an expensive suit. I admired Roman and was annoyed by him all at the same time.

Roman turned his gaze—which was supposed to be foreboding—onto Bill. **"The true death for Northman means the true death for Northman," **he said coldly.

I held in my scoff. Clearly Roman was pissed off that Bill had failed to follow orders and to kill me when I'd been under the witch's spell. However, Roman's main problem was Bill's insubordination—not any concern he had for the "public safety." Again, I was disgusted by the Authority's idiocy—their hypocrisy. Yeah—Bill _had_ been idiot #1 in that scenario since he'd contacted Nan out of jealousy more than true concern over my being under a spell. However, Bill had done the right thing in the end.

And in my estimation, it was the Authority that was mostly to blame. They'd sent no one to offer help or to investigate the situation. I was a-fucking-thousand years old! I was a powerful and loyal vampire, and I had proven myself a good leader throughout the years. I was an asset to my underlings, my state, and the vampire community at large. And not even one Authority representative had been spared to investigate whether something could be done to break the witch's spell!? Ludicrous! Instead, within a few hours—probably fucking minutes, actually—my true death had been ordered.

In my estimation that was indicative of short-sightedness on the part of the Authority. I'd always blamed Nan for it; she _had_ despised me, after all. But now I also suspected that Roman was lazy. But that was now a good thing. If he was—indeed—lazy, then he would want some "help" in dealing with his problems. And that would work in Bill and my favor.

I tuned in again as Roman changed his tactic. He asked Bill if he was a Sanguinista.

Bill answered, **"I don't even know what it is."**

I wondered if my king was lying, but frankly, I didn't care. It didn't really matter. If Bill and I lived through this, however, I would have to teach him how to keep his ear to the ground a little better so that he could better know what was going on in the vampire world.

"Mr. Northman?" Roman asked, now addressing me―obviously with the same question he'd asked Bill.

**"Yeah, I'm tryin' to stay away from politics as much as possible,"** I intoned. It was the truth.

**"Are you?"** Roman pursued.

**"And religion,"** I mumbled and then listened as Roman asked me whether I thought the concept of the "common good" was "hopelessly naïve."

In fact, I did _not_ find it naïve; it was practical. If the common good was good for me, I was all for it. However, I _very_ much doubted whether a vampire with as much ambition and self-importance as Roman Zimojic actually believed in the _common_ good. Roman probably felt it was beneath himself to even know what the word "common" meant.

Roman turned back to the Chancellors in order to elicit their opinions. I figured that the Guardian already knew what they would say. I studied the Chancellors to see if any were on our side—if any could be useful.

I scoffed. The redhead in the bad suit, who said that Bill and I were "lame horses"that should be "put down" was _not_ going to be put on my Christmas card list. Indeed—when she turned to us and yelled out, **"True death for these fellas," **my dislike for her solidified.

Oh well—one down.

I let my eyes move to the next speaker. I did not know who the black vampire was, but I could sense his age and power. He reminded the members of the Chancellery that Bill and I _had_ destroyed the necromancer. Damned right we had!

This one, I figured, could be useful.

As I noticed the truly hideous and useless decorative bowl on the table (I'd never understood bowls that held nothing), the "little boy" of the group slammed his fist onto the tabletop.

I rolled my eyes. I knew three things in that moment. The first was that the tantrum-throwing diminutive vampire would _not_ be on Bill and my side. The second was that young ones who were turned ought to be put down immediately. Generally they were, but someone had apparently "missed" this one until he was old enough to fight off threats. The third was that this vampire was probably the most powerful of all the Authority members, other than Roman. Otherwise, he _would_ have been killed by now. He was just that annoying.

Roman held up his hand and _stopped_ the debate, even as he, ironically, reported that the Chancellors had already had several heated debates over what to do with Bill and me. Again, I almost rolled my eyes at the irony. Roman might like to give lip-service to "debates," but he _clearly_ enjoyed the sound of his own voice too much to truly welcome them.

The Guardian walked toward Bill and me again, stating that all the members of the Authority had committed themselves—their very lives and "destinies"—to mainstreaming. With dramatic flair, Roman stepped in front of us.

**"Coexistence with humans is not an option; it is a **_**necessity**_**,"** he stated with passion. **"It is merciful. It is just. It is **_**vital**_**."**

I agreed with the "necessity" and the "vital" parts, especially now that vampires had "come out" to the human world. The "merciful" and "just" parts seemed like posturing on the Guardian's part—like sound-bites from a politician. I hated fucking sound-bites—except, of course, when I was the one doing the "biting."

Roman continued, **"Not to mention that they outnumber us a thousand to one."**

I certainly agreed with _that_ point. I watched as the Guardian grew more and more agitated, especially as he mentioned fundamentalism. _Yes_—everything seemed to go back to that for Roman. He was scared, and his fear was a gift to me—an Ace in the hole.

Salome stood up and opened a case holding an ornate stake.

Roman asked, **"Do you have anything to say before I pronounce sentence?"**

I could think of a hundred things I wanted to say, but very few of them were to Roman Zimojic. I checked my bond with the woman that I wanted to say most of those hundred things to, but only one of them seemed important now: "I still love you."

Unlike earlier when I'd been in physical pain, I wished now that my bond with Sookie was complete so that I could send her love and comfort in that moment. Perhaps, it was selfish, but I wanted the woman I loved to _know_ that I loved her—to _feel_ it down to the bone—one more time if I was to meet the true death.

"I still love you, Sookie Stackhouse. I will always love you." Yes—those were the words I wanted to say, but they were _not_ for the vampire holding the stake that threatened my heart. They were for the woman who _held_ my heart.

For a moment—just one—I became lost in my emotions. They swirled of regret and loss and mourning. They beat with desolation and denial. There were things that I _needed_ to say to Roman—plans that I needed to implement, but I was on my knees and paralyzed by my feelings.

Thankfully, Bill stepped up to the plate with the perfect opening.

"**I offer you an exchange,"** Bill said. **"Our lives in return for Russell Edgington." **

I had to admit that I was really, _really_ starting to like Compton.

I shook myself from my thoughts about Sookie. Right now, I had to remember that I wasn't dead yet, and that meant that I wasn't _done_ yet! What I needed to do was to use everything that I'd learned about Roman and Salome so far to my advantage, and I needed to do it goddamned now!

I sneered as "bad-suit" vamp started to laugh at Bill's statement. Little did she know that Russell really was a threat! Quickly, I shifted my gaze to Roman, and I instantly knew that Bill had made the right play. And I was now ready to play my own part as well.

Roman immediately went into denial mode—as if Nan saying Russell was dead on national television had made it true.

Bill told the Guardian the _real_ truth. **"Sheriff Northman and I consigned him to the ground, but we did **_**not**_** kill him."**

I watched as the members of the Authority looked at each other in disbelief—and fear. _Yes_—I thought—they were pretty much shittin' bricks, as the humans might say.

Bill twisted the dagger, **"Tragic mistake."**

I decided it was my turn. Bill had set me up perfectly, and I intended to finish the job.

**"Because he has now broken **_**free**_**,"** I volunteered with a hint of sarcasm.

Bad-suit, as I'd expected, was the first to react.

Roman stared me down—or tried to. **"That sounds like a lie to me."**

**"But it is the truth," **I said evenly. Then my voice turned deadly serious. ** "Whether we live or die, you will find out soon enough."**

With more trepidation than anger in his eyes, Roman began to approach Bill and me, but Salome stopped his progress. She claimed to be "intrigued"; however, I saw uncertainty in her eyes as well.

And was that a hint of guilt in them, too?

Interesting.

**"Russell wants **_**nothing**_** more than anarchy,"** Bill accurately stated. ** "If you would like your entire mainstreaming agenda **_**and**_** your administration with it to be completely obliterated, then—**_**by all means**_**—ignore me."**

I couldn't have said it any better myself, but to someone of Roman's ilk, information coming from a king—even one as young as Bill—would be taken more to heart than information coming from a "mere" sheriff. And, in truth, I was ultimately a bigger threat to Roman too, given my age. Bill was not such a threat; thus, Roman would not feel intimidation in listening to him.

Indeed—Bill had _certainly_ received the hint I'd dropped about Russell and had run with it nicely. In that moment, I wanted to pat my younger companion on the back and arrange for him to have a nice plump donor.

**"The only thing Russell wants more,"** I added in order to keep the fuse burning, **"is to see **_**us**_** dead."**

**"Why?"** Salome asked. Now, I noticed, she really _was_ intrigued.

**"He pissed me off,"** I reported enigmatically. **"Then I pissed him off."** I shrugged, **"You know how these things go."**

Roman was not satisfied, **"No—I don't! Why would you keep Russell Edgington alive?"**

Bill once again stepped up to the plate. **"After what he did, we felt the true death was too good for him." **

Yep—I was _definitely_ going to have to arrange for a nice donor for Bill—maybe two. I'd even trouble myself beforehand to find out the younger vampire's favorite blood type. Of course, I figured that Bill's _true_ favorite type was "Sookie-flavor," but I wasn't willing to go that far.

**"We wanted him to suffer,"** I added.

I smiled to myself, as the Guardian fumed about how Bill and I—once again—didn't follow the orders of the Authority. Clearly, Roman was now at "full-tilt," as it were, and that was the _best_ possible thing for Bill and myself—_if_ we could survive the next three minutes, that is. We needed for Roman's fear of Russell to outweigh his anger that his rule had been undermined. From what I'd learned about Roman, I gave us a sixty-forty chance—in our favor.

In the next moment, Roman had leapt over his sleek conference table and had a stake aimed for Bill's heart.

Okay, maybe fifty-fifty.

"Well," I thought, "at least the stake's not over _my_ heart." Then I thought again. I wasn't about to let Bill die for _me_. That would be demeaning—fucking humiliating! Plus, it would serve _no_ purpose. Of course, I didn't want to die in Bill's stead either, but I was damned sure not going to lose a "Supernatural pissing contest" with Bill either, so I made a calculated risk. In the end, I didn't really believe that the Guardian would strike.

Okay, at least fifty percent of me didn't believe it.

"**Guardian!"** I yelled, my voice echoing with the authority of my thousand years. _That_ got the Guardian's attention. Yeah—I was pretty certain now that I could take Roman in a _fair_ fight. **"I was the one who did it,"** I said calmly.

Roman seemed to be foaming at the mouth. He seethed at Bill, **"You are king and you allowed him!"**

Yeah—I was now damned certain that Roman didn't want to _try_ to take me on, which was why he kept his focus on Bill. That _was_ good to know.

"**Lilith help me, I am going to stake you!"** Roman raged as he brought down the stake within a quarter of an inch from Bill's flesh.

But he _didn't_ kill Bill.

I was relieved—not overly surprised, but relieved nonetheless. Bill and I were winning the battle—at least for the moment.

Roman walked away, pontificating about the fact that he now understood that many things were more important than his "personal desires."

I smirked to myself. I doubted very much that Roman actually believed that, and given the little "tell" that I'd picked up from him when he said those words, I was pretty sure that I would like to play poker with the Guardian. I would likely be able to build a franchise of Fangtasias with my winnings.

Bill spoke sincerely, **"Guardian I promise you. Now Russell is free, he'll stop at **_**nothing**_** to find us. And when he does, you will be there to put an end to him as we should have."**

Despite everything, I knew that the vampire next to me was speaking his true feelings. Hell—I knew what was paramount on Bill's mind, for it was the main thing in my own too: Sookie. Killing Russell would help to keep Sookie safe. Not killing him had been a mistake. But right now, that fact was going to save Bill's and my lives―at least for another night.

Bill continued, **"I offer this to you as a final gesture of solidarity. I, like you, believe that mainstreaming is possible and essential, but Russell **_**must**_** be stopped." **Bill paused. ** "I fully expect to meet the true death either way."**

I realized that Bill was still being sincere, and in that moment I decided that I was going to do everything in my own power to keep Bill alive—that is, right after I made sure that my other priorities were met.

My first? Sookie. She had to live. I checked our bond. She was still there—still okay.

My second? Me—of course.

Third? Nora.

But Bill was a fourth.

Unless Pam was in danger. Then Bill would be relegated to number five.

But a solid five.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I really enjoyed a lot of this scene from the show, but I was annoyed that Bill seemed to be "in charge" of things. I didn't think that made much sense. I think the better explanation was that Eric was keeping things close to the vest, even as he was feeling Sookie's strong emotions through the bond. I hope you enjoyed my interpretation. I didn't use all the words from the scene, instead opting to summarize a lot of the dialogue and happenings from Eric's POV, but remember that the stuff in bold is from the episode, so credit the _TB_ writers for that. **

**Until the next one,**

**Kat**


	12. Chapter 12: Perfectly Scripted

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: Perfectly Scripted<strong>

I couldn't help but to notice just how perfectly placed Bill and I had been on the circular symbol on the floor. Just like all older vampires, I recognized the design. It had originally been a symbol for Lilith, but over the millennia, it had become the mark of the Authority itself.

As Bill and I had been pushed onto out knees, we'd had hoods over our heads, so it had been our _captors_ who had placed us so perfectly. We were obviously being recorded. And if the hairs on the back of my neck were any indication, we were being watched by more than just a techy. No—I had the undeniable sensation that I was being _studied_ by someone I could not see.

But whom?

As I listened to the members of the Chancellery debate my fate, I realized that there were two definite sides to the table. Bad-suit, Dieter Braun, and the little kid were clearly in the camp to kill Bill and myself—regardless of the use we could serve.

On the other hand _and_ the other side, Salome and the black Chancellor, whom I was _really_ starting to fucking like, were clearly advocating to let us live. And I figured that Salome would be _outwardly_ on the side that Roman was actually on. Her argument was to use Bill and me to draw out Russell. It was reasoned and practical, but I wondered if her "job" all along that night had been to make sure that Bill and I lived.

The question was this: Was she saving us for Roman or for herself?

Sure―she'd presented Roman with the stake that he was still carrying around, but when she'd done it, she seemed to be participating in a performance more than truly thirsting for Bill's and my blood. Yes—Salome was playing her part with just as much expertise as she'd earlier played the role of torturer.

I realized that Bill and my fate was already a foregone conclusion. We _would_ live through the night.

We were _always_ going to.

Given that revelation, my mind started spinning, trying to arrange pieces of a puzzle that had been set before me upside-down.

A script.

_THAT_ was what Roman seemed to be following. Somewhere, there was a fucking script! Otherwise, Bill and I would _already_ be dead—would have been dead back at Bill's mansion or on the pier after we'd escaped the first time.

Had _Nora_ been the one using us? Had she intended for us to be caught? Had she intended for us to provide a distraction? Had someone inside the Authority itself needed that distraction? And for what purpose?

I intended to find out who the fuck had cast me as an actor in this fucked up play!

I scoffed. Yes—Bill and I had been placed on that circle on the floor as if it were a "mark" for actors!

Or perhaps I was reading too much into our position. Perhaps, Roman was just anal about such things; from the look of his perfectly tailored suit―complete with a perfectly pressed red handkerchief standing out of a perfectly-sized little pocket―I knew that Roman liked things "just so." But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in the middle of a play.

I wondered if this whole production—_including_ Roman's anger—had all been for the benefit of the others in the room, especially for those on the "bad" side of the table. There was something in Roman's eyes that spoke of "more"—a mystery of some kind. I wondered what the fuck the mystery was.

I ran through what I knew.

_**Number one:**_ Nan Flanagan had been sent—as her _last_ act for the Authority—to kill Bill and myself. If she'd have just been sent for Bill, then that would have been no stretch for her—_no_ problem whatsoever. Had Bill been by himself, Nan was old enough to take him down easily.

However, she'd specifically wanted to meet with both Bill and me—_together_. Or—at least—that was the summons that Bill and I had received from the Authority about ten minutes before Nan had shown up.

And there had been _only_ three guards with her. Nan and three storm troopers would have _never_ been a large enough force to take me out; I was a thousand fucking years old, after all.

And Roman would have known that. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Roman had _wanted_ Nan dead. He just didn't want to get his own hands dirty. So he'd decided to give Bill and me the _parts_ of her executioners.

_**Number two:**_ Bill and I were still alive. Why?

If Roman had wanted to tie up all lose ends, then he would have killed his executioners. He would have washed his hands of the whole bloody mess. On the surface, it didn't make fucking sense otherwise. Nan was ostensibly sent to kill Bill and me, but we killed her instead. And then—_not two hours later_—came a force _ten times _larger than Nan's. And that force had included a number of strong vampires, including Nora. Did Roman know Nora would try to free me? I didn't think so, but it was possible.

More likely was that someone _else_ in Roman's inner circle knew—and the main candidate in my mind was Salome.

Regardless of Nora's part, however, it wasn't logical that the larger force wouldn't just complete Nan's failed task: to kill Bill and myself.

After all, we had clearly just _added_ to our crimes! And it wasn't as if we could deny it since there were still bags of Nan and storm trooper goo all around Bill's office. Hell, there was a chunk of Nan on the ceiling fan that I'd not yet gotten to!

So the question remained: Why would Roman bring us here?

It _wasn't_ to kill us. That would be an utter fucking waste of resources, and Roman didn't seem wasteful. No—every action of Roman's seemed perfectly scripted. There were no extraneous scenes or lines.

_**Number three:**_ Bill and I had put a wrench into Roman's plans when we'd escaped from the trunk. Nora had _seemingly_ added to that wrench by helping us after that. But Roman _hadn't_ been fooled by Nora's phone call. He'd sprung a trap to ensnare us at the pier.

How did he know we would be there? Were Nora's confederates on that pier Sanguinistas? Did Roman have a mole in Nora's group? Or could Nora have been helping Roman entrap Bill and me all along?

No—I didn't think that could be true. Nora seemed to _truly_ be up the shit-creek now, and I didn't believe that she was working towards _Roman's_ ends—at least not on her own volition. She was, perhaps, another unwitting actor in Roman's production—but she had no knowledge that she was acting _for_ him.

And then it dawned on me. She thought that she was an actor in someone else's play—a play that was going on at the same time as Roman's drama.

I contemplated that realization for a moment.

Roman had clearly gone to great lengths in order to find and apprehend Bill and myself. I still wondered why. I wondered if there was something bigger that I was missing.

Nora's possible connection with the Sanguinistas had obviously rattled Roman. Did the Guardian _really_ think that Bill and I were involved with that group?

I _highly_ fucking doubted it. In our own ways, Bill and I had been visible supporters for the mainstreaming movement. My Public Service Announcements—though a pain in the ass to film—had a large Internet following around the world. Hell—my "fans" had devoted countless Websites to me, most of them 'litanizing' and objectifying my every feature as if I were a piece of meat.

Of course, I didn't so much mind _that_ part. It was quite amusing actually, and lording it over Pamela throughout the last year had been one of the few bright points of my existence after Sookie had disappeared.

Thinking of the blond telepath, I quickly checked our bond. She was still there. Still okay.

I glanced at the man beside me; I _knew_ that my erstwhile king was not a Sanguinista. Bill, though at an extreme from myself, was a very committed mainstreamer. Even though the Festival of Tolerance had been an epic clusterfuck, Bill had spun the situation better than even Nan had. And it _had_ been "fixed" quickly—as even Roman had admitted.

No—Bill was a respected public figure, a natural and consummate politician, with genteel Southern manners thrown into the mix. Roman _had_ to know that Bill and I were unlikely candidates to be Sanguinistas. Hell—if we were his enemies, then we were going about it in a _very_ fucked up way.

_**Number four:**_ Roman had _wanted_ us to clean up the Nan mess and then be brought _to_ him. He'd wanted us for something, but I still wasn't certain what that _something_ was.

Clearly, Roman had been sidetracked because of Nora's actions and was now being further sidetracked by the menace of Russell Edgington. But there was undoubtedly more going on than met the eye.

There _had_ been a hint earlier, and I continued to process that little nugget. Why had Roman taken out the relic of Lilith? And why had he completed the ritual as if speaking to someone _behind_ Bill and me—as if placing an offering to someone "just offstage?" I had seen the doors behind Bill and me when I'd turned briefly to observe Roman. Now I wondered just who or what was behind us.

And, _more importantly_, I wondered if there was someone pulling Roman's strings too. And if so, who was more powerful than the Guardian? Only _one_ being that I could think of was more powerful, but that would be impossible—right?

* * *

><p>I was brought out of my reverie as Roman put an end to the Chancellors' "debate." Yes—I realized, looking into Roman's eyes—Bill and my survival <em>had <em>been a foregone conclusion, but Roman, too, had played his part well.

"**Chancellors, thank you for your input,"** Roman postured. **"Be assured that I will take it all," **he paused,** "under advisement." **

I noticed a knowing look pass between Roman and the black Chancellor. Yes—we were _all_ playing our parts―weren't we? Even if some of us didn't know it, our strings were being pulled left and right.

"**Bless the blood,"** Roman said, his words marking the dismissal of the Chancellors.

"Bad-suit" gave me a brief sneer as she passed by, and I gave her a little wink as I fantasized about twisting the cheap pearls that hung so tightly around her throat until her head popped off. Yes—I thought—that _would _be satisfying.

As the others were leaving, Roman asked Salome to stay. Clearly the scene was _not_ _quite_ over yet. I narrowed my eyes and watched the pair, wondering what would happen next. I knew for fuck sure that it would _not_ be Bill and my true deaths.

As soon as the chamber door closed, Roman began speaking as he casually put the stake away. **"The Sanguinistas have turned Russell Edgington into some kind of hero for ripping out a man's spine on T.V. He has become the **_**poster-boy**_** for the **_**anti**_**-mainstream movement—their Osama Bin Laden."** Roman paused briefly as he walked toward Bill and me. **"Do you know the one thing more dangerous than a martyr?"**

He answered his own question. ** "A three thousand-year-old vampire who hasn't fed in over a year."**

I fucking agreed, and I checked my bond with Sookie because of that agreement. She was still okay.

"**Suffering does not **_**kill**_** the appetite for power,"** Roman continued as if speaking from experience. **"It **_**exacerbates**_** it." **

As Roman continued speaking about his unwillingness to let his Guardianship **"go swirling down the shitter," **I continued to size up the vampire in front of me.

Roman was scrambling to hold onto his control of the situation. He was scrambling to keep the Sanguinistas at bay and to keep his power intact. Perhaps, the Guardian had been hoping to procure Bill and my help to do just that all along. Perhaps, _that_ was the reason we had been brought to the Authority's headquarters.

He'd likely been monitoring Nan for a while, so he may have known that she planned to try to entice Bill and me to her side. Thus, when we killed her, we'd unknowingly proven our loyalty—to _Roman's_ side.

Roman had not known about Russell—_clearly_—but he was no idiot. If the Sanguinistas had broken Russell out, then he might be able to find his greatest enemies by drawing out _my_ greatest enemy—or, rather, using Bill and myself to draw Russell out. Roman could kill two birds with one stone.

It was practical.

Indeed, Roman had clearly decided to use Bill and me for his own purposes; he'd most likely decided to do that even _before_ he sent Nan to kill us.

Again, I wondered if there was an ultimate puppet master in the wings of the stage.

As Roman finished his little speech, he looked straight into my eyes. **"Do you understand what I am saying?"**

I returned Roman's direct look. I understood _more_ than Roman's words. **"Absolutely, Guardian,"** I responded.

Roman then looked at Bill, with slightly less intensity.

Bill answered, **"We'll bring him in,"** he paused,** "or die trying."**

I checked my bonded. Sookie was okay.

Yes—I _would_ die trying. I _had_ _to_ make sure Sookie stayed safe. The fact that she didn't want to be mine was no longer consequential. It hadn't been since my conversation with the Were.

Roman looked toward the ceiling and signaled. The gesture was likely designed to communicate to whoever had been recording—or whoever had _paused_ the recording of the proceedings.

* * *

><p>Less than a second later, a couple of vampire guards had Bill and me in their grasps and on our feet again. They led us out of the room and into the corridor—this time without the hoods over our heads. The hoods had evidently been a prop for the <em>other<em> Chancellors to see―_not_ a devise to keep Bill and myself from finding our way back to the meeting room.

Interesting. _Meaningful_.

_Yes_—I had just been an unwitting actor in a play.

"Well," Bill said as soon as the door closed behind him, "_that_ could have gone worse."

"I wonder," I said enigmatically.

Bill looked at me in question, and I gave him a little smirk.

"So," I winked to the guard who was holding my arm, "who will I have to screw around here to get a shower and a wardrobe change?" I leered at him. "You?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Not much got changed in this chapter except for the POV. This was the chapter where I initially drew myself in a corner. I'd been convinced that someone like the A.P. was going to get introduced at Roman's puppet master. But I was soooo wrong; still, I didn't change much b/c I have figured out a way to make Eric's thoughts "work" later on. **

**Hope you enjoyed!**

**Kat**


	13. Chapter 13: Harnessed

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: Harnessed<strong>

Thankfully, it turned out that a shower _was_ on the agenda; unfortunately, the stall I was led to was miniscule, and I was eye-level with the goddamned nozzle!

Gods—I despised having to bend down to wash my hair.

"What? Did we lose a fucking war?" I asked the shower stall.

Still, the water felt good and there was soap. And—at this point—I was grateful for small favors. As I lathered up a second time—hoping that it would _finally_ eliminate the lingering stench of Nan Flanagan from my body—I allowed myself to open my bond with Sookie completely.

I had never been as comforted _and_ as pained by anything in my entire existence.

Sookie was agitated as if she were still looking for something, but she was also extremely determined. I felt my cock begin to swell.

Gods—I loved her determination.

I closed my eyes and stroked myself a little, imagining the set of Sookie's jaw and the light in her eyes when she was determined. "Fairy Sookie," I thought to myself.

Sadly, my self-stimulation was interrupted as I felt a strong surge from _both_ of the bonds within my body! My palms connecting with the shower tiles in order to keep my body standing, I gasped at the strength of the emotions I was getting from them.

Something was happening to Sookie and Pam. My first thought, of course, was Russell Edgington. Powerless, to do anything and fearing the worst, I monitored two of the three beings I cared about most in the world.

Sookie was frightened, and I felt pain coming through our bond. I gasped. Thankfully, that pain was almost immediately replaced by anger, and then a surge of energy pulsed through me—almost like a heartbeat. After that, Sookie's emotions leveled out a bit. Meanwhile, Pam, whom I knew had been worried and annoyed all night, was suddenly enraged, and then there was an unexpected burst of pain from her.

Sookie's surge of power and Pam's pain had occurred almost simultaneously within me. Despite that, I sighed loudly in relief, knowing in that moment that it _wasn't_ Russell who was threatening Pam or Sookie.

I didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that the two most important women in my life were once again having an altercation—a physical one this time. And it didn't take a rocket scientist to know who had won either. Pam was fuming and felt shame, whereas Sookie had settled down and was feeling satisfied with herself; she was agitated as before, but she was fine otherwise.

Neither of them had felt pain for very long. And, for that, I was grateful.

I couldn't help but to feel proud of Sookie—proud and hopeful. If she were able to take on Pam and walk away alive—especially given Pam's recent attitude and behavior regarding her—then she _might_ be able to defend herself against Russell.

I closed my eyes tightly and shut off the water. Every instinct inside of me was screaming that I should go to my child and my . . . .

What was Sookie to me? My beloved? My ex? My torment? The bane of my fucking existence? My wildest dream? My _anything_? My _everything_?

"All of the above," I said to the tiny shower stall as I stepped out and began to dry off. Quickly, I put on the change of clothing that I'd been given, thankful not to have to put back on my own blood-stiffened garments. I was amused to see that my new 'outfit' came complete with a pair of flip-flops.

"My favorite," I remarked, slipping them on.

I opened the door that led to the room where the guards were waiting for me. Bill was already there.

"Ah—look, honey," I intoned, "we have matching outfits again."

Bill smirked. "Indeed we do."

"Not as swanky as the robes though," I observed with a wink.

"_Later_," Bill joked in return—even as the guards grabbed our arms and jostled us into motion.

* * *

><p>Bill and I were led down yet another of the endless corridors that filled the subterranean levels of the building.<p>

Upon reaching our destination, we were pushed into a sparse room. A young vampire, who looked like she'd been turned about a year before and who could only be described as a "cute little computer geek," ordered us to strip off our shirts as she opened a suitcase and took out what looked to be a harness of some kind.

"Kinky," I thought to myself.

Out loud, I asked, **"What is that?"**

**"I call it,"** the techy said excitedly, **"the I-Stake."**

**"That's catchy,"** I deadpanned.

Clearly proud of her creation, the young techy went on to gleefully describe the device that she was putting on me. Apparently, with one little click, a wooden tipped bullet would pierce my heart.

Lovely.

I wondered if the little device could possibly pierce that organ any more than a certain fairy-human had already done. I doubted it.

The techy warned me that the harness would pinch a little but that I'd get used to it. "Kinky indeed," I thought.

**"Just imagine it's a training bra,"** she said.

**"Well, it's been a long time since I wore one,"** I intoned.

Even as Bill looked at me with amusement, the techy secured a second one onto his chest.

**"How do you trigger these devices?"** Bill asked.

**"There's an app for that,"** the young vampire stated flatly.

**"You're joking,"** Bill smiled.

I didn't think she was.

**"Nope,"** she confirmed. **"So if you try to do something stupid like attack me or try and run away or whatever****―****click and **_**splat**_**."**

**"Efficient," **Bill commented.

I agreed; I too had to admire the efficiency of the whole apparatus. Technology could be a wondrous thing, and the idea of having a life in my hands that just a touch of a button could end was a powerful thought indeed.

An _app_ that could end a thousand-year life.

Yeah—technology could be a bitch too.

I listened as the techy explained that trying to remove the harness would also lead to our certain deaths.

_Of course it would._

She also explained the "safety features" of the harnesses. Apparently, they were indestructible: **"water-proof, fire-proof,** **yada, yada, yada"**—whatever the hell that meant. They also contained "big brother-type" tracking devices.

_Of course. _

The techy finished her spiel with a warning, **"Do yourselves a favor—don't fuck around. Okay? You guys are too cute to be goo."**

I had a difficult time holding in my smirk. I liked her. Young ones tended to be annoying, but this one was amusing.

**"Thanks,"** I deadpanned.

"We will try not to 'fuck around,'" Bill added.

"_Try_," I emphasized, this time my smirk coming out.

The techy rolled her eyes and put her phone in her pocket.

I looked over at Bill. "How precious. We match again."

"I would think you would be used to harnesses, Eric," Bill smirked.

"I _am_ used to putting others in them," I informed, winking at the techy.

"You two can put your shirts back on," she said with another roll of her eyes.

"So," I grinned, "does that app do anything else? Anything naughty?"

The techy chuckled. "Not yet."

"Then I shall compose a 'wish list,'" I winked again.

* * *

><p>As soon as we were dressed, Bill and I were led down a corridor we'd not visited before. The guards with us opened two doors on opposite sides of the hall, each of which led to a small bedroom, which was equipped with only a bed.<p>

"Looks like we are moving up in the world," Bill remarked.

I nodded, "Indeed—from a cage to a box."

"Get in," one of the guards said as he pushed me into my new 'home' and slammed the door behind me.

I sat on the bed. "Well, at least it's _slightly_ more comfortable than the last one," I said to the wall as I kicked off my flip-flops and lay down.

It was still a while before dawn, so I concentrated on my bonds again.

Pam was still irritated—cagey even. I wondered if this was because of my being gone, her confrontation with Sookie, or her new child. I sighed. Before I'd confronted Russell more than a year before, I'd told Pam that it was time for her to consider creating a child of her own. And—like Godric had done for me—I'd instructed her many times over the years to wait to choose a child until she was "pulled" to someone. I wondered if she had felt the pull. I hoped so.

I knew that Pam could be a great maker if she put her determination into being one. I hoped that—no matter whom she had turned—that she would commit herself to his or her training, just as I'd done with her.

The thought of my line—of Godric's line—going on pleased me. Pam had my blood and my maker's blood inside of her. And Pam's child would have the blood of his or her forebears too. Yes—the thought that I would not die _completely_ even if I met the true death was strangely comforting to me.

However, I was still angry at my progeny for her recent disobedience. I did not care to be questioned by Pamela when I gave her orders. And I knew that much of her recent behavior had stemmed from her jealousy of Sookie.

As I'd been thinking about Pam, I'd been monitoring my bond with the blond telepath as well. Sookie was even more desperate now to find what she was looking for. She also felt tired—worn down. Ever since she'd walked away from Bill and me, she'd been a mix of overpowering emotions, and—at least during the nights since then—I had not felt her sleep. I'd not felt her _rest_ at all.

Had we exchanged blood three times, I would have been able to transmit comfort to her through our bond. I would have been able to encourage her rest.

But I was powerless to give her any relief.

Utterly. Fucking. Powerless.

At dawn, I found myself fighting my own rest for a while, as I kept monitoring Sookie and hoping to feel her sink into the embrace of sleep as well.

She never did.

Two hours after the sun was in the sky, I finally allowed myself to succumb to death for the day. My last thought was that the harness that held a wooden bullet poised over my heart was _nothing_ next to the harness that held me to Sookie Stackhouse.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I have to say that I really liked Molly. I wish she'd not died in the show so that I could keep her around. But-at least-we get to see her a couple more times. **

**:)**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Kat**


	14. Chapter 14: Sloppy Seconds

**Chapter 14: Sloppy Seconds**

I woke up to the same feeling that I had gone to death with: Sookie's restlessness. Moreover, to the agitation I'd felt from her this morning had been added dread. I concentrated on the woman whom I both loved and loathed to love. She was not in immediate _physical_ danger; of that I was certain.

That was of some comfort, but her depression still rocked me.

And it was clear that she'd still not slept.

I sighed. I understood _well_ that there were dangers of various kinds. I'd learned that lesson on a Dallas rooftop.

I knew that if my bonded did not sleep—did not rest—soon, then her fractured emotions would shatter. Restless myself, I sat up in my bed—even as I wished that I were in a different bed, in a different place, and in a different time.

The bed in the cubby was about as wide as the one I was sitting on now, though I'd made that one longer to accommodate my height. With disdain, I looked down at the end of the bed I was on. My feet had dangled off of it at least half a foot. The sight would have been comical to me if I weren't in the midst of such a clusterfuck.

I closed my eyes, speculating that it was only a matter of time before I would be led to a different bed, a much more luxurious one: Salome's.

I was no novice when it came to manipulation. My time on the Guardian's strings had been high theatre thus far, and I didn't expect that to change.

Act 1 had been Nan's death and the subsequent apprehension of my monarch and myself. I'd been merely a pawn in that act, not understanding yet that there was a bigger picture than just Bill and my elimination.

Act 2 had been my "interrogation"—my torture. I now realized that it had been designed to make me more _pliable_ and _ready_ to jump into whatever role the Guardian—or the one pulling _his_ strings—might have for me.

Nora's involvement had given Salome an excuse to raise the issue of the Sanguinistas, but I was quite certain that she would have—if need be—found another way to bring up the topic of Roman's enemies. _Clearly_, Roman had been trying to confirm that neither Bill nor myself was involved with the group he was obviously threatened by.

Obviously, Act 3 had been originally scripted as a _chastisement_ scene for the benefit of the Chancellors of the Authority. Had Nora not unwittingly complicated things by trying to help Bill and me escape, Roman would have likely just berated Bill for not following the order to end my life. Bill and I would have been "read the riot act" for Nan's death as well. But I was convinced that the Chancellors on the "good" side of the table would have "swayed" Roman to spare Bill and my lives. Of course, the Guardian would have certainly demanded "penance" from Bill and me—some kind of service.

Roman had likely wanted Bill and my "cooperation" all along, and I was convinced that Bill and my "atonement" for disobedience and for killing Nan would have fit into the grand scheme—or scene—of Roman's larger production.

Of course, there had been a need for improvisation during Act 3. As soon as Nora's behavior had screamed, "I'm a Sanguinista," and as soon as the name "Russell Edgington" had spilled from Bill's lips, Roman had been in scramble mode. He'd been trying to gauge Bill and me—size us up—attempting to confirm that we had nothing to do with the Sanguinistas. Ultimately, Roman must have been satisfied—or at least satisfied _enough_.

Bill and I were alive, after all.

And now I knew that it was time for Act 4: the seduction. I sighed, wondering how the fuck I was going to convincingly play my part in that!

I checked my bond with Sookie. She was still there and felt as she had before.

I closed my eyes and steeled myself. Having sex with Nora had been one thing. She was my vampire sister―after all―and she and I had regard for each other. Though ultimately unsatisfying, the sex had―at the very least―been _instructive_ for me. It had taught me that no one would be able to replace Sookie—_not ever_. It had taught me the futility of looking for a stand-in for my bonded one.

But it had _not_ been totally unpleasant either. I cared for Nora, and Nora cared for me, and after Sookie had rejected me, I fucking needed to be cared for!

So, with premeditation, I'd taken steps to feel "better" with Nora. Just because it hadn't worked didn't mean that I shouldn't have tried.

But tonight would be different. I was almost certain that Roman would want to use his best _asset_ to the best of her ability. And if Salome was anything, it was a seductress extraordinaire. I figured that Roman would want her to marshal her considerable "gifts" to test my "commitment" to the cause, especially now that Russell was in the game.

And if Salome was a Sanguinista—as an inkling in my mind was telling me she very well might be—then she'd want to "test" me for her own reasons as well.

I knew that I would have to continue playing the role that had been set up for me. If I didn't, I would likely be killed before morning. No—like any actor finding himself in the middle of a scene, I would either have to perform as expected or get replaced by someone who would.

I lay back down to wait for my curtain time. I checked my bonded and found that she was still not resting.

I sighed again—more deeply—as my feet dangled over the end of the bed.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, I was led into an opulent suite, complete with a seductress who was ready to play her role as well.<p>

I was not going to lie to myself. Salome _was_ beautiful, and two years ago, I would have been extremely pleased to find myself in her private chambers with only a robe of the finest-quality silk separating me from her lush curves.

But it was _not_ two years ago, and I now longed for another set of curves altogether—a set I found infinitely more alluring because they belonged to the woman who stirred my soul in a lot more fucking ways than just with her body.

Salome spoke with her back still turned to me. **"Sheriff Northman,"** she purred smoothly as she arranged her hair. **"Good evening."**

As if I'd been given a script, I said the lines I figured would be expected at that moment. **"Thank you, Chancellor, for your support at the hearing."** Yes—I wanted for Salome to know that _I knew_ that she was indeed on Bill and my side—for whatever reason. **"We owe you our lives,"** I said, making sure that my voice held sincerity.

Meanwhile, I held in my smirk. I didn't really believe that it was Salome whom I owed, but I wanted her to _think_ I felt that way. I might be an actor in a role that I didn't fully understand yet, but I was damned sure going to figure out the Guardian's endgame soon enough, and when I did, I figured that Salome might be useful, so I would pull _her_ strings for a while. Turnabout _was_ fair play―after all. And if I ultimately had to perform the role of the man-whore in this particular scene, then I would _at least_ get something the fuck out of it! Frankly, I didn't think that the lackluster orgasm I expected would be worth it in and of itself.

Salome glanced at me over her shoulder. ** "Oh—you can stop **_**performing**_**."**

I was momentarily taken aback. Could Salome be more of a master in this play than I'd realized?

She continued, **"I have this room checked for bugs—**_**daily**_**." **She gave me a sweet smile. **"We can be ourselves here."**

I was immediately relieved. Salome might be aware that I'd been "performing" for her, but she clearly had no idea what my true motives were. And as for the notion of "being myself" with her—well, there was only _one_ woman with whom I'd ever truly been myself, and look where the fuck _that_ had gotten me!

Still, I quickly checked my bond with said woman.

**"Please—sit down,"** she offered, patting the space next to her on an elegantly upholstered chaise.

For a moment, I felt like a lamb being led to slaughter; I was certain that Salome had led many, _many_ men to their deaths through seduction. The originators of the biblical depiction of her might have skewed the story in order to paint Salome as the symbol of female seductiveness and danger for their own misogynistic and political purposes. However, I knew that the vampiress in front of me was indeed _very_ dangerous. And clearly, she was trying to seduce me.

Obligingly, I sat next to her—ready to be seduced. She poured me a warmed glass of blood—A-negative. It wasn't my favorite, but I'd not eaten since Sookie, so it was welcome nonetheless. I waited for her to speak. I knew that she needed to believe that she was the lead actor in this particular scene, and I was happy to let her believe it.

**"You surprise me,"** Salome said flirtingly. **"And that doesn't happen very often. I expected you to at least **_**try**_** and save her."**

Ah—now I knew what Salome's tactic would be. She would once again try to use the mention of Nora to gauge whether I was my sister's confederate with the Sanguinistas. Perhaps, the Authority was still trying to get the truth from Nora too. I spared the briefest of moments to feel bad about my sister's situation.

I also knew that I would have to continue showing my emotions and concern for her; it was part of the role I'd already determined for myself.

**"Who?"** I started by playing dumb.

**"Your **_**sister**_**,"** Salome said―as if it were a complete revelation to me that she would know of that.

Purposefully, I let my expression cloud over with surprise before schooling my features again. I had suspected for a while that the beautiful vampiress knew of my and Nora's relationship. Hell—I'd even _hoped_ for it! It gave Nora a good reason to have been helping Bill and me _without_ it being related to the Sanguinistas. It gave Bill and me cover.

Reasonable doubt.

On the other hand, it made me suspect that Nora and Salome were in league with each other. Were they both Sanguinistas? Was Roman's greatest enemy the vampiress who most often shared his bed?

**"Don't worry,"** Salome said conspiratorially, **"your secret is safe. Even Nora has no idea I know."**

**"How?"** I asked, happy—for the moment—to keep most of my sentences to one-word questions.

**"Godric,"** Salome said with a light in her eyes.

I knew that Salome's mention of my maker was designed to do one thing and one thing only: throw me "off my game"—so to speak. She was looking for and then poking at any vulnerability she suspected I had. In truth, I _was_ still crushed by the death of my maker, especially considering that Godric had _chosen_ to leave. But I wasn't about to let Salome use Godric against me.

No—I was determined to show Salome _only_ what I _wanted_ her to see. I would make her think she was getting to me, but _I_ would be the one in control by the end of the scene.

**"Oh,"** Salome said with reverence in her voice, **"he was **_**glorious**_**!" **She sighed. **"Before he lost his way."**

Well—at least I could fucking agree with that!

The seductress then brought out the "big guns" to get a rise out of me.

"**He loved you the most,"** she said as if she'd had some kind of blueprint into the inner workings of my maker. I knew that she didn't, but she _was_ a very good actress. ** "Well, now I see why," **she added with a hint of a smile.

I let Salome see my "apparent" discomfort at the topic and waited for her to go on.

**"So Nora risked **_**everything**_** for you. And you're willing to let us execute her for it?"** she asked.

**"What choice do I have?"** I asked. Clearly Salome was about to give me one.

**"There are **_**always**_** choices,"** she assured. ** "Godric gave you one while you bled out on that pyre: Be his companion or die?" **

Okay—I was starting to get a little pissed off that Salome was continuing to use Godric. It was also now clear that _Nora_ had told her about Godric's turning of me. Godric would have never confided in a vampire like Salome. Knowing this, I knew that it was time for me to take control of the strings for a while.

**"Are you lonely?"** I asked her. **"Is **_**this**_** how you make friends?"** I continued, allowing my voice to show a bit of defensiveness that I did not feel. I also brought back the sarcastic edge.

That pushed Salome's buttons—just as I'd intended.

In truth, I was already fucking tired of the scene I found myself in. I was thirsty, goddammit! And I wanted to drink my fucking blood, but I had to pretend that I was more interested in the conversation than the blood.

I held in my sigh. I wanted to hurry things along, especially since I had no doubt about how it was due to end. The character that I was playing would be required to fuck the character that she was playing. And I was ready for the fuck to be over with so that the next damned act could begin!

Salome got up in a bit of a huff and turned her back on me again. I knew that she was trying to regain her own cool.

"**Friends you can trust—,"** she began sharply before her voice smoothed out, **"a rare commodity." **She turned back to face me. **"I sponsored Nora's Chancellorship. Did you know that?"**

"**Hmmm."** I gave her a little half-smirk, half-smile as I tried to look interested. It looked like Salome was going to go back to the topic of Nora again. It was fucking predictable!

"**I mentored her,"** Salome said, her frustration clear.

If Salome could use Nora, then so could I. ** "So her betrayal makes you look **_**particularly**_** bad."**

From the look in her eyes, I knew that Salome was on _my_ strings now.

She walked back toward me shaking her head a little. Of course, her hips shook too. It seemed that her fallback position was the seductress.

"**You're cold,"** she said with false hurt in her eyes.

She had no fucking clue how fucking cold I could be. But—if I had my way—one day, she _would_ find out.

"**But it's because you've been hurt,"** she said as if she knew me,** "and that wound is still fresh." **

I looked at her with a bit of surprise. She was right, of course, but she had no idea how I'd been hurt or who had hurt me. She likely thought that it was Nora—unless Nora had told her about Sookie.

Now _that_ thought scared me a little.

No—looking into Salome's eyes—I knew that she had no fucking clue that it was a telepathic human-fairy hybrid that was pulling at me through our fledgling bond even then.

Talk about a puppet on fucking strings!

Nora might be a Sanguinista, but she'd not betrayed _me_—not yet.

As long as she didn't, I was happy to let Salome _think_ that it was Nora's imprisonment or even Godric's loss that was hurting me so much. It was useful that she _already_ did.

I looked away and took my first drink of my blood—finally. It was indeed quite tasty. **"I heal quickly,"** I said casually as I continued to play my part well.

Salome rose—_finally_—moving toward the bed and loosening her robe in the process. **"Perhaps I can help you speed that along."**

She _was_ lovely, I had to admit. But there was nothing in the fucking universe that would "speed along" the process of my healing short of my bonded telling me that her rejection of me had been the _biggest fucking mistake_ of her fucking life. Yes—that would just about do it.

I looked up at Salome, already knowing the answer to the question I was about to ask. I asked it anyway. **"What do you want from me?"**

"**You know what I want,"** she said as she exposed her beautiful breasts to my gaze. They _were_ glorious—maybe even the _second_ best pair I'd ever seen. But they were in a _distant_ second.

"**I want to be your friend,"** she said with some insistence in her tone. Clearly the scene hadn't gone exactly as she'd wanted it to, but she was still powering on to the end. She knew what Roman expected of her, and she _was_ a good actress—even though her eyes didn't quite convince me that she enjoyed the part she was playing.

She lay down on the bed alluringly. Her position was _practiced_ and showed her body to greatest effect. Yes—she was a _very_ good actress.

"**But it is what **_**you**_** want that intrigues me,"** she said seductively.

Giving nothing away, I kept my eyes locked into hers. I needed to look like I _wanted_ her, so I did. I needed to look like I _needed_ her, so I did.

I needed to _perform_, so I did. And I was a good actor—_better_ than the vampiress in my hands.

In fact, I _performed_ until she was screaming my name _and_ Lilith's name and until she was _no longer_ performing as she did it.

And _that_ was the moment when I knew—with almost certainty—something about Salome. Yes—Nora might very well be a Sanguinista, but the woman I was pounding into was _most_ definitely one.

I couldn't help but to wonder if Bill and my purpose for being on Roman's strings was to help the Guardian to discover Salome's true loyalty. Or—perhaps—Roman didn't suspect her at all.

I thrust upward and downward in a blur of movement, knowing that I was hitting Salome's "sweet spot" again and again. She once more cried out my name in her ecstasy.

Yes—as Pam always said—I _did_ know how to pull "good string."

And as for my own enjoyment? Well—at least the goddamned bed was long enough.

* * *

><p>An hour and three good scrubs later—again in the ridiculously small shower—I was led to a room where Bill was waiting. Immediately thereafter, all but one of our guards disappeared. The last of them led us to an elevator and pushed a button before gesturing for us to get inside.<p>

I stepped into the little box even as I received a particularly nervous and then guilty feeling from Sookie. She was on edge, and all I could do was ride out the wave of her feelings just as I was about to ride in the fucking elevator. For _neither_ one was I certain about my destination.

Once Bill and I were inside, the guard pressed another button, but didn't join us in the conveyance. As I felt the box moving, I commented to Bill, **"So I had a visit this evening,"** I paused, **"from a certain—uh—Chancellor." **

"**Interesting,"** Bill said with a little smirk.

Realization hit me. **"What you **_**too**_**?"** I asked. I should have known that Salome would be "thorough."

Bill looked down, trying to conceal his smile. I still saw it. **"You know what they say about gentlemen," **he began, **"they don't brag about **_**sloppy seconds**_**."** The amusement was clear on the monarch's face now.

"**Ahh,"** I sounded as if frustrated. In truth, I was content to let Bill get "one up" on me this time. After all, I had merely been performing with Salome. And I had needed a thousand years of practicing my control in order to "get it up" and "keep it up" with her. Salome was beautiful and alluring and seductive; however, she was _not_ whom I had wanted.

And unlike with Nora, I'd had to "finish" the job; there had been no handy phone call from a Were to get me out of it. Luckily, Salome was not a telepath, or she would have known that I was fantasizing about a real telepath as I'd "completed" my scene.

Bill looked just as self-satisfied as I had intended.

"**What the hell does she want from us?"** I asked, knowing that "big brother" was most _certainly_ listening to our conversation. My thousand-year-old ears heard the buzz of the high-frequency bugs, after all.

Bill shook his head and spoke honestly, **"I have no idea, but something tells me she usually gets what she wants."**

I figured that was true, but, unlike Bill, I _did_ have an idea of what Roman—or his own puppeteer―might want. And I had a good idea of what Salome wanted too.

The elevator doors opened to a slew of storm troopers.

"Oh goody," I intoned. "It looks like we didn't lose our escort, after all."

"Happy day," Bill deadpanned.

As Bill and I followed the lead of our chaperons, I got another strong surge from Sookie. She was feeling an intense amount of guilt and pain—a profundity of suffering.

I knew that I would soon be in her radius again—that I'd once again be closer to her when I returned to Shreveport, which I was certain I would be doing before the night was over.

However, I also knew that—as much as I wanted to go to her and to make sure that she was okay—I also did _not_ want to go to her. Bill and I were being tracked, and I didn't like the thought of Sookie being anywhere near me while the Authority was "watching." I wondered if Bill would have the same inclination or if he would dash off to her like a rooster with his head cut off.

I glanced over at my "new friend," whose face once more held a little smirk. I sighed. Even though I wasn't really upset about Salome, I was _too damned old_ to be someone's "sloppy seconds."

Of course, I'd also been Sookie's second partner, but that wasn't the same kind of situation. No—with Sookie it had been even "_sloppier_," but not in the conventional sense of the insulting phrase.

No, the sloppy part had been her continued love for Bill. Despite the fact that I could now appreciate the vampire walking by my side and no longer wanted to tear his throat out at every turn, I still hated the fact that the woman I loved also loved Bill. However, that wasn't really _Bill's_ fault.

Yeah—there had been the blood that the Civil War veteran had given to Sookie, but that wasn't _really_ dictating her actions, and I knew it.

I could fucking feel it like a vise pulling at me through our bond.

She was scared. Her first relationship—her first _everything_—had been born out of and based upon a deception. I couldn't blame her for fearing that her second relationship would turn out just as _sloppily_.

I sighed. From what I had intuited, Sookie's life had been a collection of episodes that had caused her pain—physical and emotional. In the cubby as I'd lain under silver, she'd told me about how hearing everyone's thoughts had hurt her over the years. It seemed that even the people she loved—people I'd seen her willing to die for, like her worthless fucking brother—had thoughts that had made her suffer or feel guilt. As Sheriff of Area 5, I had judged Sookie's telepathy as an asset, but _she_ had been cursed by it. It had been the silver chain holding her down for her whole life, and she'd suffered from it a great deal more than any silver had ever hurt me.

I'd wanted to change that for her—to take that suffering away. After I'd regained my memories, it was _that_, which I had offered to her.

But how could she—after enduring everything else that had happened in her life—trust me?

_Yes_. I'd been hurt by her rejection—annihilated. But what hurt me more _now_ was the realization that she was likely justified in her rejection. Oh—she was _wrong_ about me! Dead fucking wrong! But she was still justified.

After all, how could she trust my heart when she _so clearly_ didn't yet trust her own?

With amnesia, I'd been "safer" to trust. _That_ Eric had nothing to conceal because he remembered _nothing_. He had no motives or agendas that he could be hiding. There were no plots from queens being concealed because he remembered no one whose orders he could have been following.

As soon as my memory had been restored, all of the danger I posed to her—_especially_ of the emotional variety—had also been restored. Again—how could she trust me not to further damage the heart that she'd given so freely to Bill?

The heart that had been returned to her in pieces.

It was no wonder that she'd held it back and run out of Bill's mansion. No fucking wonder at all.

How could she trust that I was saying what I meant when she couldn't _hear_ me—hear my thoughts? She'd made that mistake before—with Bill.

S o the telepathy that had always caused Sookie pain suddenly reared its ugly head again—this time because she _couldn't_ use it with vampires.

I felt Sookie's crushed spirit through our bond, and the weight of it made me understand _everything_ I needed to understand about Sookie's rejection of me. Of course, that understanding only made the rejection that much more painful to bear.

I recalled the night that we'd lain together in her bed after we'd made love for the first time—the first _four_ times, actually, if I was counting my own orgasms. Seven—if I was counting hers.

I sighed. I had asked her if she would still want to be with me after I got my memories back. What I was really asking was if she would still _love_ me.

She'd suddenly become uncertain. She'd stammered out that she didn't know. She'd told me that she would've never accepted "the old me" into her bed. She'd told me that she "_hoped"_ that she would still want me. She'd confessed that she knew that the day I would regain my memories was coming and that she wanted to keep feeling the way she was feeling then. Her eyes had filled with tears as she'd told me how _badly_ she wanted to keep feeling that way.

I'd wanted it badly too. I wanted it _even more_ now.

B ut even then—even without my experiences to help me to read her—I had known that Sookie doubted me because she doubted herself. She doubted whether I would be capable of _truly_ loving her because she had never been gifted with romantic love that had been _true_ and _real_. How could she _not_ doubt me? Even with the bond we'd made the next night, how could she trust herself _or_ me?

After, we'd bonded, I had told her the truth: That I simply wanted to be with her—_only_ her—_forever_.

And she'd answered with words that had—even then—indicated the state of the previous destruction within her heart. She'd said, "There's no such thing as forever." And her eyes had betrayed the fact that she felt that there was no such thing as forever _for her_. Everything in her life up until that moment—_especially_ her Gran's death and Bill's betrayal of her (forced though it may have been)—had taught her that her words were true.

They were _not_ true when it came to my love for her, but how could I possibly make her believe me?

How could she believe that her second love would be better than the first?

How could she believe that the "second" me she'd met—the one without memories—didn't love her less than the "first?"

In fact, "I" loved her more because I _knew_ her more.

Yes—seconds could be extremely _sloppy_ indeed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The scene between Eric and Salome always rubbed me the wrong way. I didn't like the idea of Eric being manipulated like he seemed to be, so I tried to infuse the end of this with a little comedy. And-also-I wanted to show that Eric knows more than it seems. Otherwise, Eric's actions don't make much sense to me. **


	15. Chapter 15: Abandoned

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: Abandoned<strong>

* * *

><p>[<em><strong>Context:<strong>_ This scene occurs during Episode 4 of Season 5. Sookie has just told Alcide that she killed Debbie, and Alcide has angrily driven away. Lafayette (partly possessed by the "demon" he somehow "absorbed" from Jesus) finds Sookie in tears and confronts her, calling her the "angel of death." Meanwhile, Eric and Bill have been "released" by Roman and the Authority to go find Russell—though they both have I-Stakes poised over their hearts. This scene picks up as Eric and Bill are about to be dropped off near Shreveport.]

* * *

><p>From the moment Herveaux had told me that Russell had been broken out of his concrete prison, a significant part of my mind had been working to answer a simple question: <em>Who<em>?

Who had freed Russell? He had been buried under too much cement to burrow out of his tomb himself. Not even a hundred years of slow movements would have gotten him free—despite his age and power.

Moreover, he'd still not healed from his exposure to the sun.

AND he'd been wrapped in silver chains and forced to stay awake the day before he'd been buried.

AND I'd taken his fang.

He'd gone into his prison very weakened and silver-bound—with way too much damage to heal without blood, which he'd not had.

In his tomb, the concrete would have done more and more damage as it set. Hell—even after being in the stuff for ten minutes, my own strength had been taxed as the concrete set to work trying to suck all the liquid from my body through my fucking pores!

I shook my head. No—there was no way that Russell had gotten out without help.

I considered the most obvious scenario first.

Did Russell have children that I didn't know about? I had to admit that it was possible—though not probable.

I had checked and then rechecked Russell's lineage after the cement was laid in place, and there were no children that I hadn't accounted for.

Unlike most vampires, Russell had been a boaster in many things. He'd boasted about his wealth. He'd boasted about his collections. And he'd boasted about his children.

According to Godric, who had heard stories told of Russell for longer than I had been undead, the three-thousand-year-old had always made the same kind of child—over and over again. He made consorts—companions like Talbot. Moreover, it was common knowledge that he kept only one child at a time, killing the others in Darwinian fashion when he lost interest in them.

Indeed—until Talbot—their fates had always been the same. According to the King of Portugal—who had owed me a debt, which he settled by giving me information—some of the older monarchs in Europe, including himself, even made bets about how long Russell's latest child would last. And Russell's practice was not kept from his children either; in fact, in his arrogance, Russell made clear to each new child that he was in a fight for his very life. In that way—at least—Russell had been fair and honest. Each child thinking that he would be the one to finally keep his master's interest, none of them had ever challenged the ancient vampire.

Of course, they wouldn't have been able to even if they had wanted to. Russell was no simpleton; he'd always used a maker's command to ensure that his children couldn't do anything that could harm him. Not surprisingly, that mandate was one-sided. Russell seemed to have no problem "harming" one of his children when a new human lover intrigued him more than his latest child. The ancient vampire's practice was frowned upon by the Authority; however, it had been tolerated because of his age.

It seemed clear that Talbot had been the wisest among all of Russell's consorts/children. He had embraced the lavish lifestyle that Russell had offered him. However, his greatest gift turned out to be his craftiness in dealing with the humans that might have been good candidates for Russell's next child. He had encouraged Russell's access to any and all human lovers and blood donors the elder vampire desired, even procuring those with the best quality blood and experimenting with their diets to make their "flavors" better. But—most importantly—he'd never shown jealousy when Russell took a new lover. Talbot's smartest move had been in keeping the "buffet" ever-changing and "fresh" so that Russell would never get too attached to any particular human.

It had been clear to me―after only a few minutes of being in the couple's presence―that Russell was happy to indulge and spoil Talbot, while Talbot was happy to flatter and adore his maker.

What the elder vampire would _not_ tolerate was anyone questioning his "divine" right to do and to take whatever the hell he wanted. Despite Russell's apparent affection for Talbot, the younger vampire had obviously begun to "forget" that he shouldn't push his maker too far. I had seen Talbot question Russell concerning his decisions regarding both Sookie and Sophie-Anne, and I had little doubt that the three-thousand-year-old vampire would have likely begun to "window shop" for a new child in the next decade or so if Talbot had continued in the same vein.

After my research, I had been almost certain that no other child existed, but I had also been wise enough to be wary. I knew that it had been a possibility that Russell had made a new child between the time of Talbot's death and his burial in the concrete. That's why I had rigged surveillance cameras so that I could watch Russell's burial place. That surveillance feed was going to be the first thing that I checked when I got back to Fangtasia.

It turned out that I had been wise to install the equipment.

Two nights after Russell had been buried—two nights after Sookie had disappeared—a newly-turned vampire, not even a week old, came to the construction site and triggered the alarm system I had set up. While questioning the youngling―who was feral, completely untrained, and covered in dirt and dried blood—I confirmed that he was indeed Russell's child. I found out that, in his insanity, Russell had ordered the young one, who looked very much like Talbot, to answer only to that name as well. I disposed of the pitiful vampire, who was being driven mad by Russell's persistent summoning.

Of course, after that episode, I had continued to surveil the construction site, and I'd done even more research on Russell's line by traveling to his home.

I couldn't help but to smile a little as I thought about my time ransacking Russell's mansion. I managed to get there before the Authority thought to send someone—which once again spoke volumes about their shortsightedness. Only a few Weres remained on the property, and they were easily dispatched.

My time in Mississippi had reminded me of my days as a Viking raider. I had never raped women as some historians insinuated "all" Vikings did. I'd never had to; plus, my mother would have come back from the dead to kill me if I had behaved that way!

However, I _had_ pillaged with the best of them, and there was nothing that I'd enjoyed more than to sack the village of one of my enemies. Of course, instead of taken the "booty" home via longboat, I'd used a semi. I smirked. Yes—I'd taken great, _great_ pleasure in selling Russell's artifacts to museums and private collectors. In fact, I had piles of money concealed behind a cement wall in Fangtasia's basement to prove it.

I'd also gone through all the papers in Russell's office. I found no evidence of additional progeny turned by the fallen king. Then I'd unearthed a secret subterranean room—a reliquary of sorts—where Russell had kept even more souvenirs of his long life. There, I found lovingly written biographies for each of the children he had made and then killed, going back more than 2,800 years—some even written on papyrus. There had been thirty-seven of them in all, including one started on Talbot. After bringing the volumes to Fangtasia and carefully reading them, I realized that all of Russell's consorts had simply been a part of the ancient vampire's _collection_.

However, despite the evidence suggesting he had no other progeny, I―better than anyone―knew of Russell's ability to hide a truth about himself. I'd concealed my association with the tattooed Werewolves for a millennium.

And so had he.

Thus, he _could_ have concealed the existence of other children. To combat this possibility, I had kept my surveillance equipment in place and well-maintained. And I had told no one about it—_except_ for Herveaux, who made sure the devices weren't affected by the construction. I housed my monitoring equipment in a safe room under Fangtasia that even Pam didn't have access to, though I could access the feed with my phone.

Each night for a year, I'd reviewed the feed from Russell's gravesite—until my amnesia, that is. And—as it was—I'd not been to Fangtasia since the night Bill had summoned me to check out Marnie's coven. That was also when I had lost the phone that contained the software I needed to monitor the parking structure.

Thus, I'd not reviewed the footage for almost two weeks!

I just hoped that the person who had freed Russell was sloppy enough to let himself or herself be captured on film.

There was an inevitable truth to be faced. If Russell had no unaccounted-for children, then only four beings knew where the ancient vampire had been encased: Bill, Pam, Alcide, and myself.

I had not told a fucking soul about Russell being alive and encased in cement. And—for the "undeath" of me—I couldn't imagine any of the other three saying a word about it to anyone either. But, if the surveillance equipment yielded no leads, I intended to confirm that _before_ I moved on to consider other possibilities—like some kind of fucking locator magic spell I'd never heard of.

Fucking witches!

Tabling that thought for a while, I closed my eyes and let myself sink into my bond with Sookie. I sighed. I had begun to see the bond's presence inside of me as a comfort. Yet—at the same time—it was a torment, for I could do nothing to comfort Sookie. She had been in a state of turmoil all night, and in that moment, it felt as if she were shattering because of guilt and shame. I couldn't help but to wonder what had happened to cause her such profound distress.

I gasped aloud as the vehicle came to a sudden stop at a stop sign. However, my gasp was not caused by the jarring of the vehicle, but because of a particularly strong jolt of emotion that had hit my bonded one as if it were a sledgehammer. I felt as if I'd been hit by something too—a wave of desolation that would have made me stagger if I'd been on my feet. Luckily, the sway of the braking vehicle helped to cover my reaction to Sookie's feelings.

Still, Bill gave me an inquisitive look. "Everything okay?"

I was currently not in the mood to foster my new "bromance," especially not when I was trying to deal with Sookie's emotions.

I scoffed in order to cover my pain, "Nothing that driving lessons for Tweedle Dumbass up there wouldn't solve."

Bill snickered. "I have ridden with you as the driver, Eric. You have no room to criticize driving that is," he paused, "somewhat hurried."

I managed an authentic-sounding chuckle, even as I steadied myself against another blast of desolation from Sookie. I used my thousand years of hiding myself from others to conceal my emotions from Bill, even as I closed my eyes and turned my body a bit so that my _perhaps_-monarch wouldn't be able to see my face—just in case it became impossible for me to cover my reactions to Sookie's swirling and dense emotions.

I opened my eyes and looked at the palm of my hand—the same palm that Sookie had fed from about a week before. There was no scar there, no physical evidence that she had taken my blood. But I stared anyway.

She had offered to feed me—to heal me—after I'd been kept under silver all day due to the threat from Marnie/Antonia. I would never forget the taste of her blood that day, and now that I had my memories back, that taste was made all the more striking and meaningful.

I'd tasted Sookie's blood four times now. The first time—when I'd taken it with Russell—_should_ have been the best time for me.

The tastiest.

Everything I had learned during my vampire life told me that it should have been, but it wasn't.

Human blood was always laced with the emotions the "donors" were feeling; that was why vampires enjoyed feeding from humans during sex. But—even better—was the taste of them when they were afraid. Though I had not killed a human for food in a long time—centuries before the great reveal—I had to admit that I'd often "played" with my food. Perhaps that made me no better than a Sanguinista, but—then again—I didn't damage the humans permanently, nor did I keep them under my thrall. However, I would rev up their emotions—either through seduction _or_ a nice chase—and then feed from them. I would never mix the two; in other words, I would never fuck those from whom I'd elicited fear. That would have been rape to me. And—after I was done with my meals—I would always use glamour to cover my tracks and to give the humans a nice memory.

Ever since I was a fledgling vampire, I had preferred blood from those who held fear for me—fear of the monster in the dark. Fear put a certain "tang" into the blood.

But when I drank from Sookie the first time, her fear cut through me like a stake to my heart, and that "tang" was sour. Oh—it wasn't that Sookie's blood wasn't divine; as cliché as it might sound, her blood really was like sunshine to my dark life. It was the best taste I had ever experienced up to that point—the last meal of a dying man—but, ironically, I'd not enjoyed drinking from her.

The second time I'd tasted her blood—not half an hour later—the experience had been infinitely better. Paradoxically, her blood had "tasted" worse in some ways. Bill had obviously just given her his blood to help her replenish after Russell and my feeding, and that affected the flavor of Sookie's blood.

Russell had taken more from Sookie than I had hoped he would, but I knew that she would live. Bill's donation had been ultimately unnecessary and probably self-serving. After all, she had been ready to accept Bill back into her life that very night, most likely due to having been fed Bill's blood earlier that day.

However, I had stopped Sookie from doing that by showing up at her doorstep and telling her the truth about Bill's service to the queen. I'd had a variety of reasons for informing Sookie of Bill's duplicity, many of them selfish. I wanted Sookie for myself; thus, I was happy to see a wedge driven between her and the Civil War veteran. Plus, Bill had pissed me off when he'd tried to trap me in the same cement prison as Russell. And a little revenge never hurt; I'd greatly enjoyed watching Bill get pulled out of Sookie's home. In fact, I'd had to work hard to stifle my laughter when Bill landed on his ass after trying to influence Sookie with shitty platitudes, while trying to cover up his even shittier actions. Yes. Bromance or not, I was still amused when I recalled the stricken look on Bill's face that night.

But I was _not_ amused when I remembered the hurt that had dwelt upon Sookie's face. That was the look that stayed with me for a year as I waited for her to come back.

I had other motives—more honorable ones—for telling Sookie the truth about Bill as well. She'd saved my life twice that day. I'd owed her, and I was being sincere when I said that she had the right to know about Bill's lies. Hell—I'd been ready to tell her in my office after that earth-shattering kiss we'd shared, but Pam had interrupted me.

However—strangely enough—the second time I'd taken Sookie's blood _had_ been better, despite the fact that it had tasted like Bill. Her blood had been laced with her determination, which was not an emotion that was known for improving the taste of human blood. However, it had tasted extremely sweet to me. Sookie's determination had been focused on saving my life. She'd cared about me—against all logic or odds. She'd been concerned for me and didn't want me to die.

I'd tasted Sookie's blood four times now. The first time—when I'd taken it with Russell—_should_ have been the best time for me.

The tastiest.

Everything I had learned during my vampire life told me that it should have been, but it wasn't.

Human blood was always laced with the emotions the "donors" were feeling; that was why vampires enjoyed feeding from humans during sex. But—even better—was the taste of them when they were afraid. Though I had not killed a human for food in a long time—centuries before the great reveal—I had to admit that I'd often "played" with my food. Perhaps that made me no better than a Sanguinista, but—then again—I didn't damage the humans permanently, nor did I keep them under my thrall. However, I would rev up their emotions—either through seduction _or_ a nice chase—and then feed from them. I would never mix the two; in other words, I would never fuck those from whom I'd elicited fear. That would have been rape to me. And—after I was done with my meals—I would always use glamour to cover my tracks and to give the humans a nice memory.

Ever since I was a fledgling vampire, I had preferred blood from those who held fear for me—fear of the monster in the dark. Fear put a certain "tang" into the blood.

But when I drank from Sookie the first time, her fear cut through me like a stake to my heart, and that "tang" was sour. Oh—it wasn't that Sookie's blood wasn't divine; as cliché as it might sound, her blood really was like sunshine to my dark life. It was the best taste I had ever experienced up to that point—the last meal of a dying man—but, ironically, I'd not enjoyed drinking from her.

The second time I'd tasted her blood—not half an hour later—the experience had been infinitely better. Paradoxically, her blood had "tasted" worse in some ways. Bill had obviously just given her his blood to help her replenish after Russell and my feeding, and that affected the flavor of Sookie's blood.

Russell had taken more from Sookie than I had hoped he would, but I knew that she would live. Bill's donation had been ultimately unnecessary and probably self-serving. After all, she had been ready to accept Bill back into her life that very night, most likely due to having been fed Bill's blood earlier that day.

However, I had stopped Sookie from doing that by showing up at her doorstep and telling her the truth about Bill's service to the queen. I'd had a variety of reasons for informing Sookie of Bill's duplicity, many of them selfish. I wanted Sookie for myself; thus, I was happy to see a wedge driven between her and the Civil War veteran. Plus, Bill had pissed me off when he'd tried to trap me in the same cement prison as Russell. And a little revenge never hurt; I'd greatly enjoyed watching Bill get pulled out of Sookie's home. In fact, I'd had to work hard to stifle my laughter when Bill landed on his ass after trying to influence Sookie with shitty platitudes, while trying to cover up his even shittier actions. Yes. Bromance or not, I was still amused when I recalled the stricken look on Bill's face that night.

But I was _not_ amused when I remembered the hurt that had dwelt upon Sookie's face. That was the look that stayed with me for a year as I waited for her to come back.

I had other motives—more honorable ones—for telling Sookie the truth about Bill as well. She'd saved my life twice that day. I'd owed her, and I was being sincere when I said that she had the right to know about Bill's lies. Hell—I'd been ready to tell her in my office after that earth-shattering kiss we'd shared, but Pam had interrupted me.

However—strangely enough—the second time I'd taken Sookie's blood _had_ been better, despite the fact that it had tasted like Bill. Her blood had been laced with her determination, which was not an emotion that was known for improving the taste of human blood. However, it had tasted extremely sweet to me. Sookie's determination had been focused on saving my life. She'd cared about me—against all logic or odds. She'd been concerned for me and didn't want me to die.

The third time I'd tasted her blood had been beyond the scope of words. Even now, when I considered all the languages that I knew and all the experiences that I'd had, there were no words or analogies for the way her blood had tasted and made me feel that evening in the cubby.

At the time, I could remember very little to compare her taste to. I had tasted only TruBlood and a full-blooded fairy—extremes to be sure. The TruBlood might as well not even have had a taste. I imagined that humans would compare it to eating cardboard. The fairy had been another story altogether. Her blood had been exquisite, and her fear as I'd drunk from her had made it even better. I wouldn't have been able to imagine a better taste—until I drank from Sookie.

Sookie's blood was every hope and every dream that I'd ever had—that I'd ever suppressed—during my long life, and none of that had anything to do with the _way_ she tasted. Even memory-less, I'd perceived the profundity of the moment when I'd taken her blood.

I'd not planned to pierce my own palm and to give Sookie my blood. Even the amnesiac me intuited that the blood was not to be given away without good reason. But once I had tasted Sookie, all reasons for not offering her my blood in exchange for hers were ripped out of me. My mind had felt sharp in that moment—certain.

Her blood had not been tinged with fear or with passion—or with any other flavor that vampires coveted, for that matter. It had been laced with an emotion that I hadn't quite been able to identify then. But now I knew with certainty what it had been: love. And what's more, I had been able to taste the traces of my own blood in her—traces that had been holding on inside of her since Dallas. Those traces gave me a taste of who I had been—someone whom I still couldn't remember, but whom I could "feel" to a certain extent nonetheless. Those traces had been enough to tell me all I needed to know in that moment: _I _loved Sookie—both before and after I was cursed.

Both "me's" had pulled away from Sookie's delicious blood before "we'd" needed to—before "we'd" drunk even half of what Sookie could safely give. But "we'd" had more important things to do. "We" had ripped into the same palm I was looking at now. "We" had offered "ourselves" to her.

"We will be one," "we'd" said to her.

I fisted my hand and remembered the first moment I saw Sookie Stackhouse. No—_not_ when she had walked into Fangtasia, not when I had been hiding behind my thousand-year-old mask. I had been lost to myself in a different way when I "first" saw her for the _second_ time. I'd told Bill that I'd been "born" the night Sookie had found me. That statement was still true—in so many ways.

I had felt alone and lost on that country road in the middle of the night. I'd felt abandoned, unable to remember a fucking thing. And then Sookie had suddenly come out of the night.

I had chased her. She'd been frightened at first. Yet I had not drunk from her, despite all of my instincts telling me to drain her—_except_ my most important instinct. I had somehow known that Sookie's _fear_ was not something I wanted to taste.

Never again.

I knew a lot about witches and their curses. Their spells were often aimed at preying upon their victims' deepest fears. Indeed, my memories being stripped by Marnie/Antonia's curse had touched my own deep-seated personal fear: losing control, losing myself.

But—ironically and amazingly—in losing myself, I had found exactly who I wished I could be.

I had been alone on the road—lost and abandoned. Sookie had put aside her fear and had taken me in. After that, every time she'd left me in the cubby to go do "human stuff," I'd felt the tingling of my fear returning. I didn't like being alone, and my amnesic self didn't know how to hide or deal with that fact.

In truth, I had combatted that feeling for years, ever since my human family died and then again when Godric allowed me to go my own way. I had embraced a solitary existence after that—at least in part to prove to myself that I could overcome my fear. I'd always been one to defy my fears.

I'd not even made a child until Pam came into my life, despite the fact that Godric had given me his blessing to do so when I was a couple of centuries old. Moreover, making Pam was unplanned, though ultimately not unwelcome. Pam had sliced into her arms, giving me a convenient excuse to take a companion, and that had taken the edge off of my loneliness.

I closed my eyes and opened my fist before closing it again. The vision I'd had—the "nightmare"—of Godric and me feeding off of Sookie as she'd slept had shaken me. Fear did not belong in _her_ blood, but in that vision, it had been there. After I'd "awoken," I'd gone to her, aching not to be alone and wanting to make sure that she was okay. She had let me stay in her bed; she'd comforted me. She'd held my hand—the same one I'd later offered her in the cubby.

"We will be one," I'd said to her right before we'd bonded. Those words had meant so much to me. They'd meant that I would never be alone again.

"We will be one." The words had also been for her. In the cubby that day, I had learned of her losses. I had learned of the isolation that her telepathy had forced her to endure.

"We will be one," was a promise that I would never leave her alone.

But I had. For reasons both in and out of my control—I had.

After my fourth tasting of her blood—when she'd healed both Bill and me—she'd left me. And I'd let her go. I should have stopped her—called her out on her bullshit.

And now, as her emotions flooded me, she felt so alone—as if she had nothing to hold onto and no one to love her through whatever storm had just picked her up into its grasp. I'd never felt such agony from her before, even when I'd felt her pain from being shot. I'd been under Marnie's thrall at the time, but I'd still felt that agony. And I'd been powerless to go to her then too.

However, what I was feeling from her now was worse than her physical pain when she'd been shot. The only word that came close to describing what was coming through our bond was _abandonment_.

_My_ greatest fear.

And _her_ greatest fear.

"We will be one," played over and over in my mind like a drum beat.

I closed my hand into a fist again.

Abandonment. I'd felt it the moment Godric had died the true death. But I'd had Pam, whom I _could_ have asked to be my crutch. Hell—Sookie would have likely even tried to comfort me if I'd sought her out. But, like a "good" vampire, I'd suppressed my feeling of desolation over losing my maker. I'd turned my back on it as if I could outrun a tidal wave.

I'd been a fool.

Abandonment. For some reason, Sookie felt like she had no one to turn to. No—that wasn't quite right. She felt like she didn't _deserve_ having anyone to turn to.

I opened and closed my fist a few more times as if it were the beating of a heart. I had been ready to abandon Sookie too because she'd hurt me so much—because she'd rejected me.

I felt my own shame, and I vowed that I would never abandon her—_never_. Hell itself could try to take me away from her, but I would not leave her alone to face the world. Even if she didn't want me to be there, I would make damned sure that she knew I was near. I would happily endure the pain of her rejecting me ten thousand more times, but I never wanted to feel her despair like this again.

I wanted her to know that—come what may—she wasn't alone.

"We will be one," echoed again in my mind. "Please hang on until I am with you again," I said silently, even though I knew that she wouldn't be able to hear or feel my words.

I closed my hand back into a fist as the vehicle came to a sudden stop. I was resolved. I _would_ get to Sookie as soon as I could do so safely. Meanwhile, I had to focus on living through the fucking night, protecting her from Russell Edgington, and making sure the Authority didn't learn about her existence.

No small list.

I steadied my emotions and set the feelings I was still getting from Sookie to the side of my mind; however, I refused to shut off the bond that we shared. It had been open since Herveaux had told me about Russell, and open it would stay until I met my final death. I would _not_ leave her alone, even though she currently had no idea I was with her.

* * *

><p>By the time one of Bill and my escorts got out to unlock and then open the back of the vehicle, I was completely composed.<p>

Bill got out first, and then I moved my lanky body out of the cramped space.

From what I could tell based on my bonds, I was fifteen miles from Pam and about forty miles from Sookie.

"**Don't fuck it up, gentleman,"** our escort said before dropping a set of keys down onto the ground, getting back into the vehicle, and quickly driving away.

Asshole. He could have tossed the keys to one of us.

I looked at Bill to see if he would take the lead. I calculated that it would be best if I did defer to him, at least for the time being. As much as I might "like" Bill in a way, he was now officially one-fourth of my suspect pool. If I let Bill think he was still the "king" and in the lead, then the younger vampire would be easier to observe.

Bill picked up the keys.

I looked down at my iStake. **"Well, apart from these,"** I intoned, **"your escape ploy worked brilliantly." **I'd used the word, "your," deliberately, dropping a piece of bait—and flattery—for the younger vampire.

Bill bit. **"I'm a bit surprised myself,"** he said, obviously feeling that he deserved credit for the whole plan to use Russell as an escape device.

I sighed. Bill did still have some "douchery" about him. And I was reminded just how young my ex-king was. And that made Bill pliable. Thus, I was not quite ready to fully trust Bill Compton.

I looked around to assess our surroundings.

"**We don't have many suspects for who might've broken Russell out,"** Bill said even as he cast something of a suspicious glance in my direction.

Yes—there were still moments when I really did want to kick Bill's ass. Of course, I couldn't blame Bill for his suspicions. After all, turnabout was fair play, and I sure as hell suspected the vampire in front of me of leaking the information about Russell's whereabouts—even if it had been an inadvertent slip-up. I'd be an idiot not to, after all.

"**Only four of us knew where Russell was,"** I said. Douchebag or not, Bill deserved to be on the same page as I was. Plus, I wanted to gauge my companion's reaction to the confirmation that only four knew of Russell's location. I studied Bill's eyes as the younger vampire went over who those four were. The Civil War veteran betrayed nothing suspicious.

Seemingly satisfied by what he saw in my expression as well, Bill held up the key chain, pushed the alarm button, and located our transportation.

"**I'll drive,"** Bill said in the 'I'm the king' tone he'd developed over the past year.

Indeed, Bill was a douche sometimes, but I was almost positive that he'd not been "douche" enough to reveal Russell's location to anyone. The danger Russell posed to Sookie would have stopped him.

And that left two suspects. I aimed to eliminate Pam as one first.

However, to be absolutely certain, I would have to hurt my progeny in the worst way I knew how. I would have to make her feel the same way I'd felt during my lowest moments, the same way that Sookie felt even now: abandoned.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Again, I wanted to give the bond a life of its own in this story. I absolutely hated how it was never dealt with in the show. Next up is one of my favorite parts of the season! Eric and Pam's interactions. So poignant and such wonderful acting!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Kat**


	16. Chapter 16: Man in Black

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16: Man in Black<strong>

**Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,**

**Why you never see bright colors on my back,**

**And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.**

**Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.**

_**from "Man in Black" by Johnny Cash**_

* * *

><p>I'd always appreciated a well-fitting suit. I liked the way it would conceal most of my body even as it revealed it to its best effect. Thankfully, I always kept several suits on hand in my safe-room at Fangtasia. I picked up the Authority-issued sweat suit that I'd haphazardly tossed onto the floor before I took my shower. I wadded it up and threw it into the trashcan, feeling quite satisfied as I did so. I was goddamned tired of being dressed like Bill. It made me feel somewhat "lame," given the way Bill usually dressed.<p>

One word: khakis!

I grabbed my favorite outfit—a black on black suit that I had used to intimidate many a being in my time. It fit my mood as well as it fit my body.

It also fit my purpose.

I looked in the mirror.

I couldn't help but to smile a little as I recalled Johnny Cash commenting on a very similar suit that I'd been wearing when I met him in 1954. I'd been in Memphis and had run across the struggling singer at a little club where he was singing rock'a'billy. He'd liked my look, and I'd liked his music. I wasn't surprised when he became famous soon after that. I also wasn't surprised when I saw him wearing all black years later. It was a good look, after all.

As I brushed a piece of lint from my suit jacket, I tried to mentally prepare for what was to come.

I took air into my lungs, enjoying the feeling of them filling. And, then, I let that air out, enjoying that sensation as well.

Before my shower, I had quickly checked the feed from the surveillance system which had been monitoring Russell's concrete prison. Sure enough, the equipment had been triggered by Russell's "liberation."

From the footage, I had learned three things. First, Russell had been broken out on Halloween night, at roughly the same time Bill and I had been tied to a stake by Marnie/Lafayette. Second, that fact proved that Bill hadn't done it—at least not personally. Third, it had taken two hours for the "liberator" to get to Russell, which meant that I would have had plenty of time to stop it—had I not been tied to a fucking stake at the time!

Fucking witches!

Not for the first time, I wished that I had been the one who had gotten to kill Marnie. Of course, paradoxically, I owed her too. Without her, there would have been no Sookie and me. There would have been no bond. And, though a part of me knew that my life would be much less complicated without Sookie and our bond in it, I couldn't fathom going back to the way I was.

"No," I shook my head and spoke the denial out loud. There was no fucking way I would trade the bond for anything—except for Sookie's continued life. I _would_ trade it so that she could live on—and be safe.

I shook my head again and considered the fourth and most important clue I'd gotten from the surveillance video. The vampire that had freed Russell from the cement had been clever enough to obscure his or her appearance. However, despite that, my instincts told me that the vampire was a "she," based upon both the figure's size and movements. I had fucked many, _many_ vampiresses during my long life—and fucked them well. I knew how they moved, and I could identify the supple sway of a feminine hip when I saw one.

I sighed. For now, I was going to keep my hypothesis close to the vest. But I had several prime suspects for whom the vampiress in the video might be, but I didn't really want it to be any of them.

Suspect number one was Pam. Did she hate Sookie enough to break Russell out in the hope that he would kill her supposed "rival"? Was she angry enough at me to betray me in that way? Or had she viewed it as a warped attempt at protecting me? I had felt bitterness and guilt from her during the last several days. I sighed, knowing that I would have to go forward with my plans to test Pam's loyalty.

Though I didn't fucking want to!

Suspect number two was Jessica. Bill may have been tied to me with silver chains when Russell was freed, but Jessica had not been. I couldn't help but to wonder why Bill hadn't called his child to him that night. At the time, he'd said that he'd wanted to keep her safe from Marnie/Lafayette. However, I couldn't be certain of that.

I chuckled. Bill was likely just as suspicious of me for not calling Pam. My own reasoning had been twofold. Yes. I'd wanted to keep my child safe, and—frankly—given the way that Marnie/Lafayette had controlled our bodies and easily put us onto that stake, I didn't think that Pam could do any good anyway. But most of all, I'd not called her because of what was coming from her end of the bond that night. I feared that if she saw Sookie, she would harm her. Pam had been furious with me at the time, and though her bitterness had turned to sadness by the end of the night, I hadn't wanted to risk calling her during the Marnie situation.

Suspect number three was Salome. If the beautiful seductress were a Sanguinista, then she would be an excellent candidate for freeing Russell. However, how could she have known about Russell's whereabouts? Could she be Russell's child—a child he'd kept secret all this time? Or could the Authority have been watching me during the days leading up to or following Russell's entombment? I tried to remember my movements around that time. Had I gotten sloppy? Certainly, I'd been distracted by my thirst to fulfill my thousand-year-old pledge to my human father to avenge my parents' deaths. And I'd been expecting to die right alongside Russell. Added to those things, Godric's "appearance" into the situation had shaken me to the core. I still wasn't sure if my visions of Godric were "real" somehow or just in my head, but either way, each one had seemed to affect me more than the last. And then there was Sookie. She had suddenly disappeared the very night that I'd put Russell into the cement.

And—for lack of a better word—I had felt "empty" during that time: empty because vengeance had done _nothing_ to make me feel better—empty because I missed the feeling of the new tie that drinking Sookie's blood had created between us. I'd felt my own blood in her before, but having hers inside of me had completed the circuit.

I sighed. Yes, I had been distracted during those days. But was it possible that I was preoccupied to the point that I'd missed someone following me? The answer to that question was an unfortunate, "_maybe_."

And that "maybe" meant that "I" was likely the answer to the riddle: Who had been the leak.

Fuck!

Nora was my fourth suspect for freeing Russell. The evidence mounting that my sister was a Sanguinista seemed to support this theory. Could Nora have been influenced by Salome to join the radical group? Salome had reported that she'd been the one to recruit Nora to the Authority, so it made sense that she still had great influence over her. Nora had always been a passionate follower of her beliefs. So if her mind had been twisted, she may have followed the one who twisted it with as much fervor as she'd always followed Godric's teachings or her own ethics before.

I sighed as I smoothed down my lapel. If Salome were a Sanguinista, my chances of survival were not that good, especially if she could put her thumb onto Molly's "app," but I'd prefer Salome being the one who had let out Russell over any of my other suspects.

The problem was that my preferences didn't account for jack-shit right now.

Sure, it would be nice if the vampiress in the surveillance footage were a random, nameless Sanguinista—or maybe even "Bad-suit/worse-pearls" from the Authority—but my gut was telling me that someone I knew—maybe even someone I loved—had dug up my greatest enemy.

And—for better or worse—my gut was an accurate son of a bitch where things like this were concerned.

I took one last look in the mirror and then left my safe-room. Pam had not been at Fangtasia when Bill and I arrived earlier, so I had quickly closed the club down and sent everyone home. Bill had been using the computer in my office to try to find out any relevant information on the Sanguinistas, but I doubted there was anything to find on the Internet that I had not already seen.

My excuse for "disappearing" downstairs for a while had been to shower away the stench of the Authority. I'd given Bill a similar opportunity in the employee break room, which also had a shower. Ginger had procured him some clothing.

Thankfully, I had been more or less successful at eradicating the stink of bleach and Salome's perfume—the two scents that seemed to permeate the Authority headquarters. However, I knew that I'd be unable to remove the stench of what I was about to do to my progeny.

Some things—once done—could never be undone.

For the moment, I let my mind move fully to my bond with Sookie as I climbed the basement stairs—stairs that I wished still held the scent of my bonded from when she'd burst in to find me balls deep in the Estonian dancer. I had used Yvetta for a while to numb my grief for my maker and to cover up my desire for Sookie. Yvetta had had an extremely pleasing mouth when she'd been using it on my cock, but when she'd used it to spout ridiculous ideas about what she thought she meant to me, her usefulness had been outlived.

In fact, I hadn't fucked Yvetta again after that night. How could I go back to Yvetta when I'd just seen the vision in lavender that Sookie had been? How could I return to the cheap perfume clinging to Yvetta's body when I'd just smelled the sunlight on Sookie's skin?

In my thousand years, Sookie was the only lover that I had _craved_—the only one that I could imagine myself craving for years to come. By nature, vampires were not faithful creatures. Sex—like blood—was used to feed our immediate hungers. And being with the same partner got boring after a while. Even Pam—who I had desired quite a bit—had begun to bore me after a while. There was something about Sookie, however, that felt different. I wondered if it could be the fact that she was part fairy that drew me to her and made me want to stay by her side. Frankly, "_what_ it was" didn't much matter to me. "_That_ it was" was what mattered.

I lingered on the staircase for a moment, closed my eyes, and remembered the way that Sookie's scent had cut through the smells of sex and blood that had collected in the basement. Like everything else about her, her scent had been a breath of life into my undeath.

Through the bond, I could feel that Sookie was teetering. During the last twenty minutes, there had been moments when she had felt a glimmer of hope inside of her sorrow. There had been moments when she no longer felt so alone. I wondered who she had gone to. Lafayette? Tara? Her brother? The shifter? The Were? My mind seethed at the last two possibilities.

I exited the basement and slammed the door behind me, imagining that I was smashing both Herveaux's and Merlotte's heads between my palms. I felt slightly better at that thought.

Bill was now sitting in the main club and had helped himself to a TruBlood. He had, of course, heard the door slamming.

"Okay?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Just missing the good old days when I was able to carry my sword all the time."

"Probably best that you cannot," Bill smirked.

"Probably," I relented. Decapitating Sookie's potential paramours—though personally satisfying—would get me nowhere closer to being with her myself. "Find anything?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing we can use." He took in my suit. "You look like an undertaker—_Ike_."

I chuckled, even though the sound was hollow. "I feel like one too."

Bill nodded in understanding. To the younger vampire's credit, he seemed to intuit the kind of damage I aimed to inflict upon my progeny.

Without another word, I went to my throne.

I was hoping to create a strong, menacing effect—just from my appearance. I had to play a role. And it didn't matter that I wanted to play it even less than the one I'd had to play with Salome earlier that night. This time, I wouldn't have to fuck, but I would be fucking over my progeny—my beautiful child. Most vampires swore that they were incapable of love, and I had been no different before Sookie had come into my life. But just because I was quick to deny love didn't mean that I couldn't feel it.

When Sookie had dared to "accuse" me of loving Godric while we were in the Fellowship church, I had denied it by instinct. I could tell by her eyes that she had known that I was lying. However, she'd let it go. I wondered if those sharp eyes of hers had seen the irony of the moment as much as I'd been able to feel it at the time. I'd denied my ability to love to the very person that I was—even then—falling for.

I sighed. Of course, I loved my progeny, though I'd never said those _exact_ words out loud to her. But Pam had made it clear that she hated Sookie. And therein lay my only doubt in my child. Did she hate Sookie so much and hate the fact that I loved her so much that she would release my greatest enemy?

The truth was that Pam _could_ be manipulative. After all, she was a vampire because she had manipulated me. And Pam was spoiled. And she liked things her way—_exactly_ her way. Still—I didn't want to think that she could be that vindictive. Not with me, at least.

I sighed. Because of the newness of my bond with Sookie, my lingering grief over my maker, and the rejection that I felt from my bonded one—in addition to the clusterfuck I was in the middle of—my emotions were so fucking twisted that I hardly knew up from down anymore. Thus, I couldn't fully trust what_ I_ felt through my bond with Pam. However, I knew that I could trust my eyes when it came to Pam. She would be unable to hide her guilt from me if she were guilty.

But to see what I needed to see, I would have to break her. She would have to think that I was turning my back on her just as Sookie had turned hers on me. It was the only way that I could know for sure. I just hoped that she would forgive me when it was all done.

I had shut down my bond with Pam in order to protect her from my pain as I'd been tortured. I also hadn't wanted her to be able to track me. Knowing that a "surprise attack" would be best, I'd kept it closed as Bill and I had approached Shreveport. I planned to reopen the bond fully at an opportune moment—to hit her with a blow more damaging that anything I could do with my fists or fangs.

From my bond with my child, I stripped away all pity and remorse. I hid all affection and love. I let the bond chill like a bitter winter night in the land where I grew up.

I leaned back in my throne—a throne that had been Pam's marketing ploy—and as I waited for my progeny, I thought about how she had come to be my child.

* * *

><p><strong>Flashback: San Francisco 1905<strong>

San Francisco had become one of my favorite cities. Its proximity to the Pacific kept the weather mild—not that I was affected much by the weather. But humans tended to be out more when it was warmer, and—though it was often overcast—San Francisco's worst weather was nothing compared to the harsh winters of my homeland.

More than half a century before, gold had drawn many humans _and_ Supernaturals to this part of the world, and the city by the bay had grown exponentially, its valleys and hills doing nothing to stop the humans from building outward from the city center.

Other than the hunting, which was superb due to the multiplicity of cultures represented within the city, my favorite part of San Francisco was its scent. The sea perfumed the air with salt, reminding me of my human days. It was a good life—or un-death—that I'd found.

The King of California, Ferdinand—who had, up until ten years before, been the King of Spain—ruled the new state like only a "new" immigrant could. In short, he didn't give a fuck what the vampires in his kingdom did—as long as they didn't jeopardize the secrecy of our kind.

_That_ was where I came in.

I walked the streets of the city, the fog obscuring even my large frame. I was wearing black, and I looked damned good, though the fog obscured my form—which was quite sad if I did say so myself.

And I did.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello all! Thanks for continuing to read this revision. Good News! You may have noticed that the last bit of this chapter was new. Because of the character banner Seph made, I was inspired to write the story of Pam's turning from Eric's POV. We got it from Pam's POV in the show, and it was nice, but what about the Viking? Well—during the next two NEW chapters, you will find out! I hope that you enjoy them! I'll try to get you a bonus chapter this week...maybe Thursday.  
><strong>

**Until then,**

**Kat**


	17. Chapter 17: The Madame

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17: The Madame<br>**

**[Flashback continued: San Francisco, 1905]**

It was a time of decadence in the fifteen-year-old state, California. The vampire population was low, but the human population was booming. Favored vampires were given "private" hunting grounds in the city of San Francisco, though older vampires—such as myself—were free to roam where we wished.

Yes. We could do whatever we wished—within reason.

I smiled. Indeed, there had always been something "fresh" about the world at the beginning of a new century. It was as if humans were less inhibited and less limited by old ways. Yes—San Francisco was a great fucking city! It epitomized the birth of the 20th Century.

However, occasionally, there were problems in the area, and that was why Ferdinand had secured my services. I'd made quite a name for myself as an enforcer of sorts, and I'd worked for many kings—sometimes with Godric and sometimes by myself. Ferdinand had given me the official title of "investigator" in his regime, and he paid me well for my efforts.

My current problem had started as a rumor—as most problems did. A whore had been killed in the red light district. Usually such a thing wouldn't have been cared about by the somewhat laughable excuse of a police force in the city. But the whore had been special; she'd been the mayor's favorite. And the case had been "odd."

For the girl appeared to have been bitten.

I sighed as I walked the misty San Francisco streets. I had plans for later that night, and I hoped that I wouldn't have to break them. I brushed a speck of dust off of my impeccably cut black suit and smiled. If I could hurry through my current task of picking up the trail of my quarry, I would have time to attend a special performance of _Mazeppa_ at the Maguire Opera House. King Ferdinand had personally glamoured the owner to believe that a performance in the dead of the night would be an excellent idea. _Mazeppa_ culminated in the Tartar character being stripped and tied to a horse. Decades before, the male role of the Tartar had been played by a woman—making the production extremely risqué, though the nudity was only simulated back then. I knew that tonight's production would have no such inhibitions attached to it.

I was intrigued to see the opera—as I'd already formed something of an "attachment" with the young actress who was playing the Tartar. Esmerelda could do the most remarkable things with her tongue!

However, before my fun, I had to track down the culprit or culprits who had chewed into a high-class whore and then left her for dead.

The night before, I'd visited the morgue. Though one might think that such places would be favorites of vampires, one would be wrong. The scent was always horrid—a mixture of rotting bodies and shit, given the fact that humans tended to befoul themselves when they died.

It wasn't their fault really; it was a matter of gravity. That was yet another good thing about becoming a vampire. We drank the blood of our makers in the last moments of our lives, and the magic from that prevented any last-second loss of bowel control.

I felt my lips turn downward in disgust as I remembered a time in Russia almost 800 years before when I'd been forced to drink from a corpse. The body had been fresh-_ish_. Only a day's worth of rotting and a few maggots. But, of course, the stench had been overwhelming to my acute senses.

"Fucking repulsive," I said under my breath.

But I'd been starving at the time. I'd fucked the "pet" of the wrong vampire, and I'd been put into a silver coffin for two months. And that silver coffin had been placed in a graveyard. Godric had been with me at the time of my transgression against the stronger vampire, and he was the one to free me too. I was so fucking hungry that—in my frenzy to eat—I dug up the freshest corpse in the "joint."

Godric had looked on with both understanding and disdain as I'd drained the coagulated blood from the corpse. After I was done, I had a fucking stomachache! Compassionately, Godric had led me to a home with a nice, _fat_ family inside, and by the end of the night, I was on my way to recovery.

I'd learned my fucking lesson though! No taking of others' pets!

However, Godric liked to bring up the episode whenever I was getting "too full of myself."

I smirked as I thought about my maker. He and Nora were still in Europe—Spain the last I knew. Godric had no trust for extended sea travel, and—in many ways—I felt truly independent for the first time because he was literally on the other side of the world from me.

I couldn't blame Godric for his reticence about sea travel, however. Though I'd not had to feed on another corpse during my long steamer ride from Japan to California, the smell of the unbathed humans in the steerage section got ranker and ranker during the three-week voyage. But—since steerage was windowless—that was where I'd needed to "bunk" during the day, though I'd enjoyed my nights with the upper crust. After a good bath—of course.

However, despite any unpleasantness, the rocking ship had stirred me in a way that I'd not been stirred since my seafaring days as a human. And I'd been wanting to explore the "New World" for a while.

Exploration, after all, was in my blood.

My eyes narrowed as I caught a whiff of another vampire in the vicinity—one whom I'd met a few times at Ferdinand's court.

Lorena.

I'd felt distaste for her from the start. Oh—she was beautiful. But she had a wild look in her eyes, and rumors of "bad" behavior followed her into the city like a shadow. She had told the king that she was "just visiting" and wanted to enjoy the "flavors" of San Francisco for a year or two before moving on. She'd paid the appropriate fee for her "holiday," so she had been accepted at court.

My instincts had told me that she might be trouble, so I'd reached out to some of my contacts on the East coast via coded telegrams and the telephone—an excellent new invention in my opinion. I'd glamoured many a phone operator to make sure my conversations with colleagues were kept private. Through those means, I'd learned that Lorena was something of a miscreant and had been kicked out of more than one kingdom for leaving bodies in her wake. It was also rumored that she traveled with a child that she'd never registered with the Authority.

Naughty. Naughty.

It was also clear that Lorena's beauty and charm had gotten her into the door of many a new kingdom, and she seemed to have the uncanny ability to flee it before a king could take her undead life.

Pity.

The corpse I'd seen the night before fit Lorena's _modus operandi_ to a "T." It was painfully apparent that no effort had been made to cover up the draining. The whore had multiple bite marks on her. Neck, thighs, ankles, arms, breasts, pussy—they had all been pierced by fang. And the woman had obviously been fucked roughly before, during, and/or after her death.

I felt pity for the whore. She'd been lovely, but even the least lovely of creatures deserved a less horrifying death than the whore had gotten. To cover the crime perpetrated by my kind, I'd taken and burned the young woman's body. Then I'd glamoured the man who ran the morgue so that he'd forget all about me and the whore. I'd also taken the paperwork about the woman; it said her name was Simone. I'd burned the paperwork with her.

Then I'd tracked down the detective in charge of the case. I'd glamoured him to believe that the fang marks on Simone's body were made by a small dagger, perhaps an exotic one with an ivory blade. Then I'd gone through his case file and taken anything that could have pointed to the existence of vampires.

Regrettably, it had taken up most of my night.

Oh well. It was my job—after all.

I slipped through the San Francisco streets, following Lorena's scent. My own sense of smell had developed greatly during the last quarter of my millennium of un-death; thus, I figured I could follow her from far enough away to not be detected.

The detective's case file had told me that there had actually been two victims—the mayor's favorite, two nights before, and another girl from the same establishment, killed only three nights after Lorena had arrived in the city.

Naughty. Naughty. Indeed.

I scowled as Lorena's trail disappeared, but I wasn't that upset. Clearly, Lorena wasn't particularly discreet. Given that the opera wasn't to begin for a couple of hours, I decided to visit the whorehouse where she'd chosen her victims—to see if I could pick up the scents of vampires there and to get the lay of the land.

The Comstock Brothel was in the red light district of Barbary Coast. I'd heard of the establishment, but had not yet had the chance to visit. The brothel was known for its "clean" girls—both well-bathed and disease free. The Madame, whose name I had learned was Pamela Swynford de Beaufort, had been the "best" whore for Rutherford Comstock, who'd struck it _somewhat_ rich during the gold rush. After that, he'd been wise enough to invest in a truly enduring business: prostitution. Comstock's only son had decided to go into "legitimate" business, though he still took a percentage of the brothel's profits. Ms. Swynford de Beaufort had run the place since Rutherford Comstock's death eight years before.

Now at 34 years of age, Pamela would be considered old for a whore. However, I'd learned that she still entertained a few select clients. I'd also learned that her "skills" in bed were considered unparalleled.

I was intrigued.

I sauntered into the main reception area of the Comstock, handed the hostess fifteen dollars, and told her that I just wanted a decanter of wine and a quiet corner for the evening as I studied the girls and prepared to make my choice.

The hostess did as I asked with no protest. I was certain that she had heard odder requests than mine.

It didn't take me long to figure out who the Madame was. As I sat in the corner watching, I saw that Pamela was looking carefully around the room. And she obviously wasn't looking for "company" for the night. On the contrary, even as she ate her simple meal, she seemed to be cataloguing the whereabouts of all her girls and gauging the "quality" of her patrons. Understandably, she had the concerned eyes of a Madame who had recently lost two girls to a killer—or killers.

She had the eyes of an individual who didn't want to care.

But—she had the eyes of a person who _did_ care, nonetheless.

She also had the eyes of a woman who was tired of her life. I'd seen the look thousands of times during my thousands of days.

I didn't like the look on her.

Pamela drank down a large gulp of her Campari, which had been served by a man named Nicholas, who clearly respected her. I saw a pretty brunette approach her. She asked for a boost, and Pamela gave her one—out of a pretty ring on the ring finger on her left hand, the finger that would have held a wedding ring if the Madame's life had progressed in a more socially acceptable direction.

Pamela gave the girl an almost maternal look before getting down to business and asking about one of her other girls—Claire.

The brunette informed Pamela that Claire had been in room number three for almost an hour. It was pretty clear that the Madame was half-pissed and half-worried as she wiped her dainty hands and went in search of the wayward Claire. I followed stealthily, but I didn't need to follow all the way to Room 3. I smelled the fresh corpse as I entered the hallway. And I smelled vampires: Lorena and another.

Someone who shared Lorena's blood.

I sighed, knowing that another trip to the morgue would be called for.

Ms. Swynford de Beaufort seemed to know what she was going to find behind the door of room number 3, but she still gasped when she saw Claire's body. I could smell the salt from her quickly formed tears.

**"Goddamn them,"** she cried.

"Them?" I whispered, knowing I wouldn't be heard. I wondered, then, if the Madame knew who was killing her girls. Perhaps she'd been glamoured not to interfere with the vampires or to speak of them—but had been left to remember the horror of them. Such things had happened before.

Or maybe the Madame was simply smart enough to know that powerful beings were targeting her people. Maybe, in her business, it was practical to believe in the monsters of the night—for most of those monsters were, indeed, humans.

I kept studying Pamela as she went to her "office" and arranged for a particular policeman—someone who was obviously a client as well—to be sent a message. After that, the dead girl was removed quietly and quickly, and the room she'd died in was cleaned and set to rights within half an hour. Five minutes after that, another girl was entertaining on the same bed where her colleague had died.

The whole business had taken less than an hour.

I had to respect the Madame's relentless ability to move forward.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes after the Comstock had closed, I followed Pamela as she left the brothel. She'd changed her clothing—since her own had gotten stained with blood. But she looked no less put together—or beautiful—when she took to the streets.<p>

Unbeknownst to her, I wasn't the only one following her as she quickly made her way to the apartment of the detective who was investigating the murders of her girls. I listened through the window as she asked him—for what was likely the third time—to keep her brothel's name out of the newspapers. She also asked that he place undercover detectives into her establishment.

He agreed to her first request, but not her second. However, predictively, he agreed _only_ after she paid him with money and her body. Again, I found myself appreciating Pamela. She was a savvy businesswoman—willing to do whatever it took to stay ahead, even if that meant fucking the policeman who'd just fucked her over.

After what sounded like what must have been a disappointing fuck—for her—it didn't take Pamela long at all to set her appearance to rights. When she set off on the way back to the brothel, she once again had two beings following her.

This time, Pamela sensed the human stalking her. But she didn't run or yell for help. Instead, she turned around and faced her pursuer.

"**May I help you?"** she asked in a challenging tone.

I smiled. I _liked_ her. Very much.

The man told her that she was beautiful. He wasn't lying.

Pamela told him that she was **"off the clock."**

I grinned again. She was full of piss and vinegar.

She turned to saunter away after telling him to come see her _after_ her establishment opened the next night. Unsurprisingly, the man pulled out a knife and attacked, pushing her against a brick wall.

"**That's right, whore! I like it when you struggle,"** the attacker said, his voice having taken on a sociopathic edge.

In a split second, I decided that _this_ particular whore—this particular woman—wasn't going to be violated and killed by the likes of him.

She deserved better.

I flashed to the scene and quickly killed the would-be killer with his own knife. I was an expert at killing and managed to do the job without getting a single drop on my pristine white shirt, ivory waistcoat, and ivory tie.

Glancing at the beauty using my peripheral vision, I decided to test Pamela's mettle. Perhaps, once I'd taken care of the vampire problem at her brothel, she might take care of me. It would be nice to have a lover who knew what I was again, and Pamela seemed able to keep a secret. She also seemed to be in no position to tell one.

I licked my fingers and tasted the would-be killer. A-positive. _Not_ my favorite.

I turned toward her. ** "You're not afraid,"** I said, though she was, undeniably, a little afraid. However, given the situation, she _should_ have been hysterical. I admired her even more.

"**I'm no stranger to dead bodies,"** she responded, her voice shaking.

Of course, I already knew that.

"**The streets can be dangerous at this hour. A lady should really be more,"** I paused, **"careful."** I worked to wipe off my bloody hands with my handkerchief as I waited for what I was certain would be a pithy remark from her.

"**If I meet a lady, I'll let her know,"** she responded.

Despite the fact that her voice was still quivering, she'd not disappointed me. And that was unusual when it came to humans.

I walked over to her. She was wearing tall shoes—_very_ tall shoes—so I didn't need to look too far down to look her into the eyes. But it wasn't her eyes that I was looking at. It was her cleavage. Though I'd managed to keep the blood off of myself, her dress had sustained some damage.

Unbeknownst to her, I knew that it was her second bloody garment that night.

"**That is a,"** I paused, **"lovely dress."** I finally looked her in the eyes, knowing that I'd enthralled her without the need for glamour. **"I'm sorry about all the blood," **I said sincerely, wondering if she was sharp enough to figure out that it wasn't just the dress I was talking about. In that moment, I hoped that my eyes were making the promise that I already intended to keep: to rid her establishment of predators such as Lorena.

Her eyes showed her sadness—and her gratitude.

"**It's—uh—it's fine." **

She looked longingly at my lips, but I did not kiss her.

I gave her a few coins. **"This should cover it,"** I said, knowing that the money was enough to clean _both_ of her bloody dresses.

"**Mister?"** she said to me with wide eyes. I knew I wouldn't want to answer any question she asked, so I zipped away, though I didn't truly "leave" her until I knew she was safely in her room for the night.

I had to miss most of _Mazeppa_ to make sure that Pamela Swynford de Beaufort had no additional problems that night; however, I still arrived in time to see the climactic scene. And—after that—I was able to have climactic moments of my own with Esmerelda and that amazing tongue of hers.

Overall, it had been a productive night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well-I hope that you are liking the story of Eric and Pam's meeting from his POV. :)**

**Until next time,**

**Kat**


	18. Chapter 18: A Well-Made Suit

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18: A Well-Made Suit<strong>

**[Flashback Continued, San Francisco, 1905]**

When I awoke the next evening, I chose my new brown suit with cream-colored vertical stripes. It was made of the finest material—not the scratchy shit that some tailors tried to push. My own tailor was glamoured to forget how cold my skin was, to work with me at night, and—most importantly—not to skimp on quality.

I checked my appearance in the mirror and decided to forgo a hat. I had to admit that I enjoyed the fashion of the time—especially when I recalled the uncomfortable breeches of the 1500s. The thought of the restrictive codpieces still made me cringe.

I quickly found the son of my landlord, who had delicious blood, and grabbed a quick snack. Then, I made my way at a leisurely pace to the red light district. It was only 7:30 p.m., and I knew that the Comstock Brothel didn't open until 8:00 p.m.; however, I wanted to be in place when Lorena inevitably made an appearance. I didn't have to wait long.

At 8:05 p.m., I scented her. With her, there was a younger vampire—obviously her progeny, given his scent. I watched from the shadows as a stricken-looking Pamela came out of the back door of her brothel; she walked over to the pair.

"Please," she said, "not tonight."

Lorena brushed off the plea with a wave of her hand.

"William and I would like a blonde tonight, and make sure she's plumper than the last girl. Why—we hardly got any blood out of her at all!" Lorena said with a laugh.

"No!" Pamela denied, obviously trying to sound braver than she felt.

"No?" Lorena responded angrily and then captured Pamela with her glamour. "You _will_ cooperate with us, won't you, _whore_?" she seethed.

"Yes. I will," Pam said, even as a tear dropped from her eye.

"Good. Now—like the other times—you will get us a girl fitting our preference for the evening. Then you will make sure we are not disturbed for an hour," Lorena continued.

"Please, don't kill this one," Pamela begged. "You don't have to kill them. I know that. Some of them—you've left alive."

Lorena rolled her eyes. "We will do as we please. And you will _not_ speak of us to anyone—will you?"

"No, I won't," Pamela responded, clearly still under the influence of Lorena's glamour.

"And for questioning me, you're not even going to accept the fee for your whore's services tonight—are you?"

"No. She's on the house."

"That's so generous of you," Lorena said patronizingly, eliciting a laugh from her companion who had yet to speak. "And—remember," she added cruelly, "you will recall _everything_ about our encounter, but you won't be able to do _anything_ about it. You just have to accept it—don't you?"

"Yes," Pamela said, her voice shaky.

"Well—hurry along," Lorena said.

Pamela turned and walked toward the back door. The vampires followed her. Right before they disappeared inside, the whelp turned as if scenting the air. I knew that one so young wouldn't be able to pick up my scent or see me from my position; however, it was clear that he had better instincts than his maker.

"Lorena," he said with concern in his eyes, "I believe someone is watching."

Lorena immediately dropped fang and caught Pam in her glamour. "Did you tell anyone about us?" she asked, manhandling the Madame roughly.

"No," Pamela responded. "I swear I didn't."

Lorena looked out into the night, but clearly she didn't see me or smell me. "There's nothing there, William. You're just a little jumpy 'cause you haven't fed tonight," she said as she caressed her progeny's arm.

"I'm sure you're right," he responded, though he looked once more into the night before his maker beckoned him.

I scoffed once they were inside the brothel. Obviously, Lorena got a perverse satisfaction out of tormenting Pamela. And, clearly, she had brought her whelp to the brothel many times. I wondered if they frequented other establishments in the red light district as well. It wouldn't surprise me if they'd left many more than three corpses in their wake, though at least they had the sense not to kill every night.

I found myself most upset by the fact that they were using Pamela as they were.

"Sadistic bitch," I whispered into the night as I thought of Lorena.

I shook my head with disdain. I figured it would be a while before Lorena and William's plaything was in true danger, and I needed to catch the vampires in the middle of their "crime" so that my interference would be justified—and so that my paperwork would be easier to complete. Thus, I decided to amuse myself with Pamela's company while I waited—though I kept my senses attune for the scent of blood.

* * *

><p>Clearly, Pamela had mixed feelings about my appearance in her establishment. Despite her obvious attraction for me, it was also clear that she did not like to "entertain" anymore. I found it oddly endearing that she'd fucked the detective for the benefit of her business and her girls, but was not keen on fucking the person who had saved her life the night before.<p>

Yes—Pamela was a strange and intriguing creature. Beautiful too. I wanted her, and I could tell that she desired me; however, it was also clear that she was "afraid" to fuck someone she "liked."

Intriguing indeed. And familiar.

I had a similar tendency.

Pamela made a show of gathering together all of her "unoccupied" girls, placing them before me and making it clear through her actions that I was to choose from them—_not_ her.

Amusing.

**"We have something to satisfy even the most exotic fancies,"** she said before pointing out the skills of an Asian girl she called Rubber Ruby.

**"Mm, delightful,"** I said after watching Rubber Ruby display her flexibility and balance.

Pamela looked back at me as if confident that Ruby would be to my taste.

She was wrong.

**"But it is **_**you**_** I came to see,"** I said.

Pamela sighed and looked a little pissed off. Yes—I liked her _very_ much. Even though I could smell her arousal for me, she was determined to deny herself anything resembling "meaningful" companionship.

**"A good merchant doesn't compete with her merchandise, sir,"** she tried.

I stepped closer to her. Her heart rate picked up, and the scent of her arousal became stronger.

**"And a good customer knows everything has its price,"** I said, already knowing that Pamela's price would be the elimination of her vampire problem. Of course, she didn't know that I planned to do that anyway.

I sauntered away from her. I could now smell the blood of the blonde who was currently Lorena and the whelp's plaything; however, the scent wasn't yet thick in the air. Thus, I waited patiently until Pamela pulled me to a corner of the room.

"I—uh . . . ," she stammered, obviously having a difficult time speaking because of Lorena's glamouring.

"You have a problem," I supplied, "with others who are like me. I will take care of this for you—if you will 'take care' of me afterwards. If this is an agreeable arrangement, blink twice," I grinned.

After giving me a tiny glare, she blinked—_twice_—just as I knew she would.

With Pamela trailing me, I went to the room occupied by the vampires. There was an observation screen in place, and, for a moment, I watched the pathetic display happening in the room. The whore had been glamoured and Lorena was instructing her to say a series of self-depreciating things, culminating with, **"Drain me, Daddy. Drain me till I'm dead."**

I scoffed. Lorena was truly a pathetic excuse for a vampire. She was also obviously sick and twisted. Sadly, I knew that I wouldn't be able to end her. I'd learned that her own maker had some power and influence in the New World, which was probably why Lorena had figuratively—and literally—gotten away with murder for so long. But I figured I could teach her a lesson by killing her whelp, who was drinking from the inner thigh of the whore.

I guess he was supposed to be "Daddy."

How fucked up was that?

I zipped into the room and had Lorena by the throat in the next instant. Amusingly, the whelp _ordered_ me to unhand his maker.

With satisfaction, I threw Lorena across the room, only to be accosted by a stake-wielding pup.

How entertaining.

I easily stopped him from getting anywhere near my heart with the wood.

**"Oh, Lorena, you procreated,"** I said with some glee. She and I both knew that she'd not reported the _making_. And—from the smell of her child—he was nearing a half-century old. The standard time for reporting a new progeny to the Authority these days was when the child was between five and ten years old. So many died during their first years that the Authority didn't want to bother with the paperwork if Darwinism took care of the child.

It was a true pity that Lorena had survived her first year.

I smirked, knowing that I could "punish" Lorena by putting her in silver for two weeks for the breaking of protocol. From the look on her face, she knew the punishment for her transgression as well.

Clearly the foolish woman had wanted to keep her whelp to herself.

Pathetic indeed.

**"Oh, and he is protective. How sweet,"** I said with a hint of sarcasm.

The child—William—demanded to know my name. One had to admire his courage—though his zeal was misplaced and foolhardy. Clearly, Lorena hadn't taught him how to respect his elders or, quite likely, how to be around other vampires at all.

Idiocy.

**"Eric Northman,"** I answered him. **"But—to you—the true death,"** I added as I flicked my wrist in order to send the whelp's stake flying into a wall.

He went to strike me, but Lorena stopped him. That was lucky for them both. Bill looked at her like a lost puppy. Lorena put her fangs away, and—in a pleading tone—begged for the life of her progeny, claiming that he was "new."

I knew better.

**"He doesn't understand,"** Lorena tried.

William contradicted her. **"I understand perfectly,"** he said in a thick Southern accent. **"If Mr. Northman wants a fight, he can fight a man."**

How quaint.

How chivalrous.

I chuckled. Obviously William didn't know that gender meant nothing to vampiric strength. Gods—he was amusing!

**"Well, he is brave and loyal,"** I assessed. **"Strong for one so young."** I put away my fangs. **"It would be a shame to waste a promising vampire simply because his **_**maker**_** failed to educate him,"** I added, turning to Lorena, **"on how to treat his elders." **

Clearly, my voice and my gaze were adequately menacing to the vampiress, who was quaking in her boots.

In truth, I did see something promising in the youngling. He obviously had more potential value than his maker; in addition, I realized I didn't want to deal with the paperwork—or the mess—if I killed the whelp. I decided that I would much rather "mess" with the Madame.

Hopefully, Lorena would be compelled to train the boy properly now. And—once he found out that the world of vampires was wider than the manic vision of his maker—he might even become strong enough to leave her, thereby hurting her far worse than I could ever do with silver. Or, perhaps—if we were all lucky—he might even kill her.

Fingers crossed.

William looked as confused as hell as his maker thanked me and apologized for being in my "territory." Of course, it was actually the king's territory, but I realized that Lorena probably hadn't even taught her progeny about the political structure of our kind.

Truly pathetic!

**"Oh, it is the lady you owe the apology to,"** I said, turning my attention toward Pamela, who'd been watching my exchange with the other two vampires with interest. Her heart was thrumming with fear, but—again—she'd impressed me by staying on her feet.

Most humans would have fainted at the first sight of fang.

Pamela spoke to Lorena. ** "And five hundred dollars for every girl you drained." **

I smirked. Ms. Swynford de Beaufort's moxie made me _admire_ her even more.

The constipated look her demand brought to Lorena's face made me want to _fuck_ the Madame even more.

Fucking priceless.

**"We are sorry,"** Lorena said as if someone were pulling a fang.

If only.

Pamela nodded in gracious acceptance.

**"Aren't we, William?"** Lorena added, looking pointedly at her child.

William didn't look sorry at all. Instead he approached me and looked up at me with challenge in his eyes before he zipped away like a child who'd just been spanked and sent to bed without dinner.

**"You had better get him under control,"** I said to Lorena with warning in my tone.

The vampiress nodded and zipped away as well.

As soon as she was gone, Pamela looked at me with eyes alit by the danger she'd just witnessed. Those eyes seemed to be daring me to fuck her and then leave quickly.

**"I believe we have a debt to settle,"** she said, likely trying to convince herself that it was only for "business" that she was letting me take her body.

But I wanted more. Pamela was the best candidate for a human companion that I'd found in many years.

I glanced at the whore on the bed. She had passed out, but her heartbeat was steady enough for me to know that she would be fine. Bill's quick movements before had even caused the sheet to cover the bite marks he'd given her, so—if she were discovered by anyone else while I was being entertained by her Madame—she would likely be thought to be passed out due to liquor consumption.

How convenient.

I would return to glamour the whore later. I'd make sure she treated her wounds, but didn't mention them; plus, I'd give her money enough to buy a steak meal or two.

She'd be right as rain in a couple of days.

Having decided to deal with the sleeping girl later, I turned and smiled at Pamela before taking long strides to her. I said nothing as I pulled her to me and kissed her.

Then, I took her to her boudoir. At first, Pamela tried to be "the whore"—to "act" her way through our physical act. But it wasn't long before I pleasured her enough to bring out the _woman_.

It was clear that Pamela hated the vulnerability of "feeling," and I could empathize with that. But it was lovely to watch her "feel" as I brought her to release.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope that you are still enjoying the new chapters about Pam's making-from Eric's POV. They were really fun to write.**

**Next up: more of the flashback.**

**Until then,**

**Kat**


	19. Chapter 19: Piercing

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19: Piercing<strong>

Pamela had proven to be a charming companion and a skilled bedfellow, and—for several months—we had enjoyed much time together.

A cynic might say that I was merely using her. But the truth was that I appreciated her company. She was witty and intelligent, and she'd graced my arm at many a show. I was especially amused when one of the affluent gentlemen in the audience—or one of their wives—would recognize Pamela as the Madame of the whorehouse he or she frequented. The looks on their faces were often quite humorous. But Pamela—being the pro that she was—would masterfully find a way to reassure them that their secrets were safe. Moreover, she always managed to schmooze in order to find new clientele.

Truly, she was one of a kind.

During our months together, Pamela made no demands upon me, and she certainly didn't expect anything close to fidelity from me. Like the savvy businesswoman she was, she had negotiated an "arrangement" with me. On the nights that I took her out on the town, I was required to pay her for her time—given the fact that I sometimes took her time away from her brothel.

However, on the nights that I simply came by after the brothel closed in order to enjoy her body, Pamela would take no money.

_Of course_, that was the closest that she would ever come to telling me that she cared for me.

Thankfully, Pamela was not opposed to my biting her—though it obviously didn't give her the kind of physical pleasure that it gave many. Still—she tolerated it when my passions compelled me to take her blood during sex. However, I tried to refrain, knowing it wasn't her favorite of things.

I wanted to ensure her pleasure and comfort. But—_of course_—I didn't express this care out loud either.

However, as much as I enjoyed Pamela's charms, I was restless in the way that most vampires become after they've spent a significant amount of time with a single human. It wasn't that Pamela was boring—_per se_. It was simply time to move on—both for her and for me.

After all, neither one of us was comfortable with the concept of caring for another. Thus, after one more night in her company, I had resolved to end things with her. I planned to leave her a substantial amount of money. Also, I was going to glamour away all of her memories of vampires. Though I knew firsthand how discreet she could be, there was no need to take unnecessary chances.

It being our last night together, I took Pamela to a fine dining establishment and then I took her in her bed—several times. Afterwards, I could sense her melancholy. Always intuitive, she'd probably recognized that our time together was almost done.

Never one to "cuddle" following sex, she'd turned her back to me, and I ran my fingers over the soft curve of her shoulder. She truly was lovely, and I knew that a part of me would miss her.

**"What's it like? Being what you are?"** she asked.

What was it like? That question had no easy answer. It depended on the place I was in or the profession I was pursuing. It depended on my monarch. It depended on the company I was keeping. I told Pamela that it would take lifetimes to explain it all. And it would.

It certainly wasn't a conversation to have in bed on our last night together.

She turned around to face me and gave me a smile that did not reach her lovely blue eyes. In fact, those eyes looked a little desperate to me.

**"Then make me a vampire, and we'll have all the time in the world," **she requested.

I contemplated her request for a moment, but only that. I liked Pamela. There had been a time when she'd intrigued me, but I'd never felt a "pull" toward her.

**"You don't know what you're asking,"** I returned.

**"Yes, I do,"** she said fervently. **"I'm not afraid."**

I knew she wasn't and I told her as much, but her lack of fear wasn't really relevant in the equation.

**"Most humans beg me to spare their lives,"** I said, **"and you want me to take yours."**

**"I want you to give me one worth living,"** she countered.

Our conversation went back and forth for a while—her trying to convince me to change her, and me arguing otherwise. She shared that she wanted a life other than the one she'd found herself trapped in. Pamela was smart enough to understand that women like her didn't have long shelf lives. Already, she was too old to be a "regular" working girl. If her brothel got into trouble with the law—or if the "morality police" decided to make an example out of San Francisco like it had with some of the cities on the east coast—then she would have nowhere to go. She told me her greatest fear—that she would die diseased and alone.

That she would die in the dark.

How ironic that statement was—considering that she now wanted to give up the day to live only in the dark!

I had to, once again, admire her for refusing to allow her own fears to cripple her. Instead, she turned around in order to face them.

Even embrace them.

But admiration wasn't a "pull."

**"If you had any idea what kind of life awaits me,"** she pleaded, **"you wouldn't hesitate to turn me."**

**"And if you had any idea of the responsibility that comes with being a maker, you wouldn't dare ask,"** I said, now feeling frustration—and a little guilt—because of our exchange.

**"Then **_**make**_** me and leave me. I'll take care of myself. I always have."**

My frustration turned to anger.

She didn't understand the implications of what she was saying, but I was damned offended nonetheless! Those who abandoned their progenies were considered pariahs among other vampires.

She might as well have just suggested that I had no code whatsoever!

"**Would you toss a newborn baby in a gutter? Abandoning a new vampire is no different,"** I said, even as I moved to get out of her bed—her life.

"**Becoming a maker is an eternal commitment—greater than any marriage, deeper than any human bond. To throw that away is sacrilege,"** I added passionately.

"**An honorable vampire,"** she intoned sarcastically, though I heard mostly hurt in her voice. **"Isn't that a contradiction?"**

"**No more than an intelligent whore,"** I volleyed back, knowing that I was being unnecessarily hurtful even as the words left my mouth, **"yet here we are." **

Indeed, I _was_ angry at Pamela—but also at _myself_.

As angry as I was, however, I also understood Pamela's motivations. She was merely trying to make the most important choice that she could—before all of her choices were taken away from her.

I sighed. It was clear that I had waited too long to end things with Pamela. My greediness to have a companion who knew about what I was had gotten the best of me. I'd enjoyed our time together, even though I'd intuited—almost from the start—that caring for me was costing Pamela something profound. I'd cracked into that hard shell of hers—and though part of her had been grateful—that piercing had also allowed her heretofore repressed fears to surface.

I had, long ago, reconciled myself to the fact that I was a selfish creature, but—perhaps—I had been _too_ selfish with her.

As I continued dressing, she stood and put on her robe. I could hear a sob from her and smell her tears. I closed my eyes for a moment.

I didn't like feeling regret.

Or feeling at all.

Yes—it was time to sever ties with Pamela. I resolved to glamour her and to give her even more money than I'd planned before. Also, I would make the "suggestion" that she leave San Francisco behind and settle somewhere that she was unknown. She could pretend to be a rich heiress or widow. She could set up a nice household and live comfortably. Yes. _That_ was what I would do for Pamela Swynford de Beaufort—in order to make up for what I had unfortunately done _to_ her because of my egoism.

I heard her gasp and smelled her blood in almost the same instant.

"**Pamela." **

She turned to face me. Long and deep gashes were cut into her arms.

"**What have you done?"** I asked, even though I already knew. She was forcing my hand.

"**Let me walk the world with you, Mr. Northman, or watch me die,"** she said with the kind of resolution that I'd always admired in her.

As the scent of her blood permeated the room, I tried to keep my fangs in check, even as I considered my options.

I could, indeed, watch her die, but I sincerely liked her, and I hated the thought of her killing herself.

Or I could heal her with my blood, but—in truth—I wasn't the kind to make blood ties. Moreover, Godric had taught me not to give away my blood unless it was to form a bond or to make a child.

I looked back at Pamela. No—I decided—if I gave her my blood, it would be to make her my progeny. I quickly ran through the list of things about her that had attracted me in the first place and that had kept me interested for longer than I'd been interested in most other humans during my thousand years.

And then I decided.

I made a child.

**[End of Flashback]**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I loved writing the 1905 scenes from Eric's POV! Once again, I have to thank Seph for the inspiration of Pam's character banner, which convinced me to go for it. Hope you liked it.  
><strong>

**Next up: back to the "now" and a revised chapter you've seen before, but with some changes/additions.**

**Until then,**

**Kat**


	20. Chapter 20: Surety

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20: Surety<strong>

As I remained unmoving on my throne, I felt Pam coming, and with her was her new child. When they were at the door of the bar, I smelled that the whelp was Tara Thornton. Oh well. At least her being undead would match the "lie" that I had told to Bill the other day, and it proved that I was one hell of a deducer. However, that was of little comfort to me now.

I steeled myself as Pam came into Fangtasia; she was cursing Ginger. My child was agitated and flustered, but she had no idea of my presence yet.

**"Where is everyone?" **she yelled angrily as she walked into the bar that we had started together.

_Together_.

**"I sent them all home,"** I said, my voice stony. In that moment, I needed to show her the _vampire_—not the maker, not the father, not the friend.

**"Oh, my God. Sookie, you fucking did it,"** Pam said with surprise and gratefulness in her eyes and voice.

Even though I didn't know the context of Pam's words, I couldn't have agreed with them more. Sookie _had_ done a great many things. She had changed me fundamentally. She had loved me. She had rejected me. She was—even as I sat there—rejecting _herself_. Hating herself.

Pam, however, seemed to believe that Sookie had done something to get me to come back. Maybe she was right in a way.

I could see Pam lifting her façade in order to cover her happiness that I was back, and then I felt her fear. My first instinct was to comfort my child, but I stayed cold and expressionless.

Detached from her—and myself.

Pam had every justification to be afraid of me. We had not seen each other since I ordered her away after she'd aimed a goddamned rocket launcher at my bonded—at the woman I loved! Despite Pam's protests that she didn't know what love was, she would have been able to feel the great emotion I had for Sookie. Yet she had disobeyed me and launched that rocket anyway.

It wasn't her disobedience that had hurt me the most about her action either. It was the fact that she would risk that which I loved. Could I _ever_ trust her again if she was willing to do that?

I felt my anger over her actions and my current impossible situation swell in me like a prayer answered. That anger eclipsed Sookie's sorrow for the moment. It distracted me from my own emptiness at being away from her. It numbed me to the fact that she'd rejected me. And, most importantly, it anesthetized me to what I needed to do to Pam.

**"Well,"** Pam said in a tone that could only be described as half-snarky and half-apprehensive, **"no need for apologies—right? I'm certainly not waitin' for one. Barely remember what we got all het up over." **

Pam and I had not often fought during our years together—at least not about anything major. And I'd never sent her from my sight as I'd done at the witch's store. Thus, I knew that her memory of the situation was just as good as mine. Still, she was trying to brush the episode away—which only raised my ire more.

**"Let bygones be bygones,"** she said, her eyes pleading just a little. **"Bi-girls be bi-girls," **she added, obviously trying to charm me with her humor. It had worked so many times in the past that I couldn't blame her for attempting to use it now.

Obviously nervous, Pam was so focused on me that she hadn't noticed Bill. That was careless on her part—and I hated that I'd caused her to be careless.

She looked at Bill with both surprise and disdain. **"Oh. Hi,"** she said by way of a greeting.

I was ready to get the show on the road, but I did not want to do it with the newest member of my line—or Bill—present, so I feigned ignorance as I looked over Pam's shoulder at Tara. **"Why is she here?"** I asked as if I didn't know.

Pam looked nervous despite the fact that I had given her my blessing to make a child more than a year before. ** "Uh," **she started, **"she's mine. I—uh—made her vampire while you were gone."** My child smiled apprehensively. **"Congratulations! You're a grandfather."**

I took in the blood on Tara's clothing and the scent of my 'grandchild.' From the smell of her own burnt flesh lingering on her, she had obviously tried to kill herself—most likely using an X-ray machine or a tanning bed. I'd seen many new vampires who'd not wanted to be turned do similar things.

I felt myself looking down for a moment, wondering what sequence of events had led to Tara's turning. I couldn't help but to worry about Sookie and to posit that her concern over her friend was—at least in part—driving her current state of grief. Tara obviously hadn't wanted to be a vampire—hadn't chosen it—if she were already trying to end herself. That meant that Sookie had likely chosen it for her. Having seen the volatile nature of Tara before, I figured her reaction to Sookie had been devastating for my bonded one.

I looked over at Bill and saw a similar expression on his face. However, as much as both of us would have liked to have been with Sookie right then, we had a job to do. Plus, we were sporting devices that would lead the Authority to wherever we went. And I didn't want them anywhere near the woman I loved!

**"Would you mind?"** I asked Bill, giving him a significant look as I did. I was glad that he took the hint and led Tara from the room.

Pam's trepidation became even clearer as soon as the others had left. Her eyes were wide and fearful as she asked me, **"What's wrong? What's happened?"**

I let her see no emotion in my own eyes as I leveled a stare at her—a stare that I knew would make her crumble if I kept it up. Pam might posture about the uselessness of human emotions, and she certainly judged me for my own emotions regarding Sookie, but she had plenty herself.

I paused as I steeled my resolve once more. I didn't want to hurt Pam. I knew that she loved me. I knew that her distress and her hatred for Sookie were fueled by jealousy and worry. She feared that Sookie would replace her in my affections. She felt apprehensive because she'd never "felt" me so emotional as I'd become over Sookie. Pam had always been fearful of what the future might bring. She had worried about growing old when she was a Madame. And now she worried about being alone—abandoned by me.

For my "questioning," I knew that she was right where I needed her to be emotionally. I knew that the kind of torture I was about to inflict upon her would cause much more damage than the silver that had been injected into my veins the night before.

But I had to do it. I was out of the chair in a blink and had Pam by her throat in another one. And at the same time, I opened my bond with her, flooding her with my disappointment in her actions, as well as my all-consuming anger.

My ire.

She groaned under my wrath and my hands.

* * *

><p>My fingers were poised around Pam's neck, squeezing just enough for her to know that I could kill her with a slight twist of my wrist. The fear and betrayal coming from my progeny's eyes and from her side of our bond almost broke my resolve.<p>

But I held onto my rage.

"Did you free Russell?" I began, my voice controlled and steely.

"What?" Pam asked, shaking her head. "Of course not," she responded, trying to smile a little. "Eric, what's all this about?"

"It is about disobedience," I said, still holding her with my hand and my stare. "It's about disloyalty."

"If this is about the fairy, Eric . . . ," she started.

"This is _not_ about Sookie!" I seethed, even though I knew it mostly was. For better or worse, _everything_ came back to my bonded for me now.

"Eric, you've changed. Surely you can see how bad she is for you. You would've never . . . ," she began again.

"Never what?" I asked, my voice cold again. "Never punished you for your _direct_ defiance of an order?"

Pam had to croak out her response since I was applying more pressure to her throat now. "She wasn't worth your life. I couldn't let you kill yourself for her."

"_Let_ me?" I asked austerely. "That was not your decision to make, Pamela. Did you free Russell so that he could kill her? To get back at me?"

"Eric," Pam beseeched, shaking her head in denial, "I would never do anything to hurt you."

I let my rage take over, and I threw her on top of the bar.

"**Stop fucking lying!"** I yelled down at her as my fangs clicked into place. The truth was that Pam killing Sookie _would_ have hurt me—more than anything else that she could ever do, including letting Russell out.

Yes. My own death would bring me a moment of pain when it came. However, it would be nothing compared to the pain of losing Sookie. The last year without her—I realized—had been my greatest torture. Facing her rejection would also torment me, but seeing her dead would truly kill whatever spirit was left in me.

**"I'm not lying. I swear,"** Pam whimpered, even as I grunted out my anger above her. I squeezed a little harder.

I'd never seen my child more afraid, more ready to break. But it wasn't quite enough. I would have to push again.

**"I don't know where Russell is,"** she promised.

Her face told me that she wasn't lying. My instincts told me that she wasn't lying. But there was a flash of hesitation—of guilt—in our bond as she said the words.

I let go of her throat, turned from her, and retracted my fangs. I could smell her tears.

That flash meant that at least part of her was _glad_ that Russell was out—most certainly because she hoped that he would kill Sookie now that he was.

And in that moment—even as I felt another blast of self-loathing from Sookie—I felt some for myself too. I _should_ have tried to better explain to Pam what Sookie meant to me _before_ we went to the witch's lair. However, I had barely been able to admit it to myself and to Sookie that I loved her. Making things so much more difficult, my revelation to Sookie had been met with the immediate admission that she loved Bill too. Then she had told me that she thought it might be just my blood that had made her love me—that she didn't know if the love she felt was even real.

What hurt the most was the knowledge that she might be right. Getting Bill's blood after she'd been shot had clearly affected her feelings for him. Getting mine _could_ have done the same.

Before she'd had my blood in Dallas, she'd obviously been attracted to me, but that was not something that would have automatically led to more—not for Sookie Stackhouse. After she'd had my blood, she'd shown me moments of affection, such as when she'd reached out and briefly taken my hand on the Dallas rooftop. Or when she'd washed my feet.

Had those actions—the very actions that I clung to as the greatest kindnesses I'd ever been shown—been because of my blood in her? _Only_ because of that?

Even now the fear of that possibility welled inside of me, and I was glad that my back was still turned to Pam. Complicating things even more was the fact that even if Sookie's love was real, it might not be for "_me_." She had fallen in love with the shell of me—the _me_ without my memories. She'd told me honestly that she would have never allowed the "old" me—the _real_ me—into her bed.

Were the few drops of my blood that made it inside of her enough to make her love me—and not just to fuel her lust for me? Had she loved me before she took my blood a second time in the cubby? I could tell from the bond that she _did_ have love for me now, but what if it was only for the "me" that had none of his memories? Could she love the "real" me—the vampire I was underneath the projection I showed to the world? She'd seen me more clearly—known me more fully—than anyone else ever had, yet she'd walked away from me.

Or was all the love she felt for me just an illusion created in her because of my blood? The "old" me wouldn't have given a fuck where her love had originated from, but the "real" me was truly scared for the first time in my life—but not of Russell or of the Authority or even of my own true death.

I was scared that—even if we all did manage to live through this shit-storm—I would have to face the inevitable fact that my blood would one day fade away from Sookie altogether.

Unless we exchanged two more times and made our connection permanent.

Which didn't seem fucking likely!

The bond itself would always remain inside of me, but without more exchanges, it would become empty of Sookie—empty of _life_.

And that thought carved into me.

I was vampire enough to admit that I had an innate desire to make my bond with Sookie permanent, but if we did that, she would _always_ doubt her own feelings for me. On the other hand, if my blood faded in her, she might find that she had never really loved me at all.

Godric chose me as his child because he had thought me brave. Now I felt anything but. The bravest thing for me to do would be to wait—to let my blood in Sookie run its course until I could no longer feel her emotions in the bond and it became a tomb of loss and memory. Only then would she know if what she felt for me was real. But, given the strength of our bond, how long would that take?

Months? Years? A fucking decade!

Long before the bond was "gone," she would likely seek out love from a Were or a shifter—someone she couldn't "hear" as well with her gift. Thus, by the time she _could_ be sure, any love she might have legitimately felt for me would likely be lost to the ravages of time itself.

Could I face going on with a heart full of love for Sookie and a bond that I would always _feel_—but would never again be _filled_ by her light? The fact that I couldn't answer that question scared the fuck out of me!

My thoughts went brought back to Pam as I heard her slowly rise from the bar behind me.

Yes. Before we'd gotten to the witch's shop, I _should_ have told Pam of Sookie's importance to me. I _should_ have assured her that she would always be my beloved child, even though my romantic affections were reserved only for Sookie now. I _should_ have reassured Pam that there would always be a place for her in my life and in my dead heart. Instead, I had allowed Pam's hatred for Sookie to fester to the point that I actually thought she might have freed Russell Edgington!

I now doubted the one who had stood by my side for over a hundred years, and it was my own goddamned fault!

My head swirled with paradoxes. Perhaps, it was my _certainty_ of my child's innocence that made me doubt her. I had been _certain_ that Sookie would understand my love for her and would feel the love we had together in the bond, but—thinking that love might not be real—she had turned away from me. I had been _certain_ that Nora had not been a radical Sanguinista, but now I felt in my core that she likely was just that. I had been _certain_ that Russell would remain secured in his concrete prison until he rotted, but I'd been dead wrong about that. I had been _certain_ that I could fight or think my way out of _any_ situation that found me, but now I had a tiny wooden bullet trained over my heart and ready to kill me because there was a fucking App for that!

I had been so _certain_ of so many things for so long, and none of them seemed to carry any surety anymore.

_None. Of. Them._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The scenes between Pam and Eric in this season were so amazing. I hope I am doing this justice so far.**

**Until the next,**

**Kat**


	21. Chapter 21: Paradoxes

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21: Paradoxes<strong>

**"What's happened to you?"** Pam asked with such grief in her voice that my knees threatened to buckle. She took a step toward me. I had never felt such pride in her as I did for that step. She was afraid of me, but she was not ready to run.

She was afraid _for_ me, so she was not _willing_ to run.

**"A century together,"** she said, her tone betraying her hurt,** "and never once have I ever done anything to hurt you—to hurt us. How could you think I would go and dig up Russell Edgington?"**

Pam was right. In a century together, she'd never hurt me, and she'd always been loyal. And I did care for her—deeply. Loved her. I closed our bond down so that she couldn't feel that truth from me.

However, I hated her too because she was also wrong—dead wrong. What she had tried to do to Sookie had shaken me. As Pam had fired that rocket at my beloved, I had felt my life slipping into oblivion. With a single pull of a trigger, Pam had betrayed a hundred years of trust. Her chief motive was—no doubt—to save me. And I couldn't help but to agree with her action to some extent, given the fact that the witch had eventually been defeated.

Yes. Pam had been _right_ to act as she had. My death in front of the witch's store wouldn't have made Sookie any better off. And I would have been dead for no real reason.

Both my and Compton's willingness to die for Sookie was ill-thought-out and idiotic. But it had been what I had _needed_ to do at the time—because of my love for Sookie.

Yes. Pam had saved my life. But she hated Sookie too, and she failed to acknowledge that I loved Sookie more than my own life. If my actions in front of Marnie's store had demonstrated nothing else, they'd demonstrated that fact. Yet, even now, I knew that Pam loathed Sookie and was angry at me.

The saying that there was a fine line between love and hate had become a cliché for a reason. It was fucking true!

**"You're my maker, Eric, and I would die for you—gladly—a thousand times before I would ever betray you," **Pam vowed, even as tears fell from her eyes. ** "You know I would." **

I did know that Pam was telling the truth—as _she_ saw it. She _would_ die for me without question and without regret. But I also knew that she didn't recognize that her disobedience at Marnie's shop had been the biggest betrayal of me that she could make. That was the paradox, and it was the reason why I had needed to put Pam through all of this so that I could be sure of her. Could she have released Russell in an irrational attempt to "protect" me from Sookie?

To protect me from my own feelings?

And, still, there was hesitation from Pam in our bond. There was also guilt. And I _had_ to know why that was there.

**"Well, you'd be a fool,"** I said with cold cruelty. And then I uttered the words that I knew would hurt her worst of all. **"I trust no one. You shouldn't either."**

In that moment, I couldn't help but to wonder if my words were true, and I felt broken by them right along with Pam. Just two nights before, I'd been contemplating adding Bill Compton to the short list of people I trusted, but now the entire concept of trust had so many holes in it that I could hardly believe that I'd ever believed in "trust" at all. Godric and Pam and Nora—it was those three whom I had trusted for so long.

Godric had chosen death over life—over me—and I felt the same kind of betrayal from that action that Pam must have felt when I chose to die for Sookie. I had chosen Sookie over her—and over myself—and that must have crushed my child. Had that moment irrevocably damaged _all_ of the trust between me and my progeny?

If Nora had aligned herself with the Sanguinistas, then she had chosen to disavow herself from all of Godric's teachings and all of her former compassion for humans. Admiring Lilith as a figurehead was one thing, but participating in a radical movement to establish vampires as feudal lords over humans was based on the same twisted notions that had ruled humans like Hitler. I was no innocent when it came to my treatment of humans, and I _did_ feel that vampires were superior in most ways. But I had human parents. Part of me was human, and failing to see that kinship was madness.

Sookie. I sighed even as I continued to cling to her in our bond. Could it be that Sookie Stackhouse was the person that I now trusted the most—or, rather, the _only_ being who had a hope of teaching me to trust again?

It was another fucking paradox!

Sookie had left me—just like Godric. She had betrayed me by disavowing and ignoring our bond. And I fucking hated her for doing both of those things!

But—then again—she had no idea of the bond's significance because I'd not had a chance to tell her of it.

_Before_ we formed the bond, Sookie had stopped on a roadside at night because she recognized me walking there. Not a minute later, I'd threatened her because she smelled so goddamned good that I could hardly control myself in my amnesic state. I'd chased her, planning to devour her blood during the whole pursuit. I'd been aroused by the hunt. Her blood had thudded in her veins. I'd wanted to fuck her as I drained her. Yet a simple hit from her—one that hardly hurt, despite my whining to the contrary—had stopped me.

I now recognized that two things had kept me from draining her that night: my gut and her eyes. My gut told me that I shouldn't hurt her, that she was important to me. And I trusted it. Her eyes told me that she _wanted_ to believe that I wouldn't hurt her—to believe in me. She trusted me.

"Trust me," I'd told her in Dallas as we'd stood in the Fellowship Church. Even then, her eyes had told me that she did—despite a preponderance of evidence that she shouldn't. Hell—if I had been her, I wouldn't have trusted me.

I broke her trust later that same night by tricking her into taking my blood. Yet she _still_ trusted me. She came to me for help when she and Jessica found the car of Bill's kidnappers. She trusted me enough to go to Jackson with a Were just because I'd sent him to her. She trusted me enough to be crushed when I told her I felt nothing for her in Russell's mansion. She trusted me enough to come to Fangtasia to ask me why she shouldn't trust Bill. She trusted me enough to drag me inside from the burning sun after I had once again betrayed her trust by locking her in my basement and then taking her blood without her permission. She trusted me not to hurt her when I couldn't even remember my own fucking name! She trusted that I was not going to harm her the night she found me at the foot of her bed―with my fangs out—after I'd had that fucked up vision of Godric.

She even trusted the amnesic me with her already-assaulted heart. She just didn't trust _herself_ enough to know that I had given her my own dead heart in return. Yes. Maybe I _could_ trust again.

Maybe the greatest paradox of them all was the hope and the hopelessness that love could engender—at the same fucking time!

I sighed. It was undeniable that love made people do fucked up things. Love had caused Sookie to run from me—from both Bill and me—because of the idiotic notion that we'd all be hurt less if she did. Love had caused Godric to make sure I was safe by ordering me away even as he prepared to meet the sun. Love had caused Nora to risk her position—and likely her fucked up cause—in order to try to save my life. Love had caused Pam to disobey me and fire a rocket at the woman I loved.

Maybe love was so fucked up because it required trust in order to be real, and "trust" had _a lot_ of fucking holes in it.

I sighed internally. I was the "fool" that I'd just accused Pam of being. And I was a liar. I _did_ trust. I _still_ did. And that's why I was hurting right now, even as I was hurting my child.

Pam's desolate tone once more broke me out of my thoughts. **"If I mean **_**so**_** little to you," **she cried, **"then why keep me around?"**

Her voice bared her bitterness and anger. Once more, pride for her surged through me as I turned around slowly to look at her, even as I hated myself for the pain I was inflicting upon her. From her words and from the feeling I was getting from her end of the bond, I knew that she was about to say what I needed to hear. But her words would also sever something between us that we would never get back. They would dissolve the _blind_ trust that we had always had in each other before.

I slowly turned to face her.

Yes. I _did_ still trust, and I hoped that Pam and I could trust each other again, but it was time for both of us to learn that to trust blindly was folly.

"**If you can't trust me more than **_**Bill Compton**_** or—or—a **_**Werewolf**_** for Christ's sake, then release me and get it over with," **she said, her voice stronger now.

I looked her in the eyes, every single bit of my energy focusing on them. Godric had taught me that when torture was used—and make no mistake, I knew that's exactly what I'd been subjecting my child to—there was a moment of crisis right before the one being tortured gave up the last shred of information. There was a resolution in the tortured person in that moment, and it was a sign that he or she was going to admit that which would hurt him or her the most.

For Pam, that moment was here, and I knew that after it, I would be absolutely certain that my progeny had had nothing to do with Russell's release. It needed to happen, but after it did, nothing would ever be the same.

"**Just say the words,"** she begged, even as her voice betrayed the hope that I never would, **"'As your maker,'"** she said, pausing after every word as if it hurt her physically, **"'I release you.' Say it, and we're done!"**

I said nothing as I studied her and waited.

"**Say it!"** she yelled.

I sighed. She had broken. And she was innocent.

Yes—Pam hated Sookie. Yes—part of her wanted to kill her. Yes—part of her wanted Russell to kill her now that he was out of the ground. But I knew in that moment that Pamela had not betrayed me. She was willing to suffer that which she feared the most: my abandonment of her. And she was willing to suffer it in order to prove herself to me.

Indeed, I felt great pride in my progeny, and I opened our bond again in order to let her feel it too. She looked up at me with confused eyes.

Yes. I loved my child. But I also knew that I _would_ have to release her—not in anger and not because I thought she had betrayed me. The last thing I would do if I really thought she had betrayed me was to release her. I would kill her or at least keep her under my power so that I could order her to do as I bid.

No. I would release her so that we could begin rebuilding the trust between us. I knew that we would now have to be on more equal footing to do that.

However, in releasing her, I was going to lose a great deal of my connection to her. I would no longer feel her emotions as I did now. And I would no longer be an immediate presence inside of her either. I would be able to sense that she was alive, and I would still be able to "call" her if I wanted to, but she would not have to answer my call.

As I waited for Pam to calm down and to accept the affection that I was now sending her through our bond, I recalled standing outside of the Fellowship of the Sun church in Dallas with Isobel. I couldn't even feel Godric's presence there. It had taken Sookie's message through a fucking bellboy to confirm that Godric was inside, for he had chosen to shut himself off fully from me by that time. I hadn't even known if he was alive or dead. I had promised myself that I would never do that to Pam. But—in releasing her—I would be breaking that vow. I would be making it impossible for her to feel me at all—unless I chose to "call" her.

"What the fuck, Eric?" Pam squeaked a little.

Slowly, I eliminated the few steps between us. With my thumb, I gently brushed away some of her tears, bent down, and kissed her on the forehead.

Her expression showed her confusion at my gesture.

"I hope that you and I will always be connected, Pamela," I said in a soft voice, meant to start the healing that would have to occur between us now. "I am sorry that I had to hurt you, but I had to be sure."

She gasped. "That was an act?" she asked, her voice sounding almost as betrayed as before.

"A necessary one," I responded, even as I wondered how my voice could sound both stern and contrite in the same moment.

"I understand," she said shakily even though I knew that she didn't.

"Go clean your beautiful face before your child comes." I smiled a little. "We—none of us—like seeing our makers in pain, dotter. We will talk more later," I promised.

Though still obviously a little confused, she nodded before turning to walk to the employee washroom as I went to my office to speak with Bill.

I was bolstered by only one fact. I may have tortured Pam in order to find out for sure that she hadn't betrayed me, but—unless I saw no other way out of a situation—I would not abandon her as Godric had abandoned me when he'd walked into that Fellowship church.

I sighed deeply.

I would abandon neither my child nor the woman I loved―even if I had to let them both go.

Fucking paradoxes!

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well we are finally past the last bit that I'd written so long ago! I hope you liked the continuation of what we were "shown" on the show. :)**

**Until next time,**

**Kat**


	22. Chapter 22: Shoulder Slump

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22: Shoulder Slump<strong>

My shoulders were slumped as I walked into my office.

I thought about the various reasons I had slumped them throughout my many years.

I had been a tall child; in fact, by the time I was eleven, I was taller—by almost a head—than any other child in my village. And I was as tall as most of the men. However, I was also slight—scrawny.

_Magra_.

Translation? _Meager_.

Despite the training and the hunting I did, my muscles just didn't grow like the other boys'.

I've come to notice that children from any time can be cruel to those who are different from the norm. As the chieftain's son, I was already different enough. But the other children also ostracized me because of my "nonstandard" size.

Ironically enough, very few humans now questioned my tall height when they learned that I was a Viking. They had the misconception that all Vikings were tall, but the truth was that people were shorter in general during the days of my human life. About 5 feet 6 inches was the average height for the men around me, though my father was taller than that—maybe 5'8" or so—and my mother was just shorter than most men. However, neither of them was seen as abnormal.

Not like me.

I can still remember the first time I purposely slumped my shoulders. I was eight winters old, and I wanted to be included in a game that the other village boys were playing. They never sought me out for play. But—that day—I approached them and asked to join in. I had slouched in order to "seem" more like them. And they'd let me join—but, mostly, because my father was king. The experience had been humbling.

Over the next several years, I did this many times—when my loneliness became too much for me to bear.

During this time, I also learned to slouch around the men who advised my father. At first these men seemed to admire me and my father for producing such a tall boy, but it was not long before the men began to look at me with doubt in their eyes—given the fact that I remained scrawny. I could not blame them—not fully. As my father's only son, it was I who was to take over. What if I was weak?

Yes. I slumped in their presence too, trying to look younger so that they would allow me time to grow broader.

The boys in my village began to learn the sword when they were five winters old, and I was not excluded from this tradition. My father had arranged for Torstein, the best swordsman in our community, to train me. My father told me that I should be honored to be Torstein's pupil.

And I tried to be, though I soon learned to hate the man.

Torstein enjoyed ridiculing me—_publically_—as I trained. He would call me a weakling, and he was likely the originator of the doubts against me, as well as the other children's isolation of me.

My father knew of Torstein's treatment—of course. And he allowed it, likely hoping that Torstein's words and actions would compel me to work harder.

Torstein taught me for seven years, and I did learn much from him. Seen with unbiased eyes, my progress was actually quite noteworthy. Because I was the son of the chieftain, more was expected of me. Yet—because I was "scrawny"—it seemed as if nothing that I did provided adequate enough proof that I was "becoming a man."

Year after year, I prayed to the gods that I could be the same as the other boys—or, at least, not be so "meager." Yet, year after year, I grew taller, though not wider.

With each growth spurt, I slumped even more.

When I was twelve and my body seemed to be changing with each hour, I lost hope that I could do anything to please Torstein and—by extension—my father.

To make matters worse, to practice the sword _hurt_. There was no other way to say it. My very bones hurt with their growth, and it was whispered that the gods had cursed me for being too arrogant. Of course—at that time—I was not arrogant at all.

Still, I practiced every day, and—though my head understood all that was expected of me—I could not make my limbs cooperate.

During a particularly difficult training session, Torstein finally lost all patience with me. He said that I was purposefully screwing up. Afterwards, he went to my father and told him his theory, and—without speaking to me about it—my father gave Torstein permission to take a firmer hand. After that, I was on the receiving end of many strikes from my instructor.

When my father left with many of the other men to go on a raid, I began to dread my sessions with Torstein more than ever. Moreover, Torstein had been left in charge of the village.

During our first training session after that, Torstein struck me when I failed to move as he instructed. My left eye did not open for many days after that. Still, I practiced. However, my efforts were clearly not paying off, as was evidenced by the fact that Torstein struck me again during our next training session—this time with the hilt of his sword. He hit my left shoulder when he deemed it too high to complete the move he was trying to teach me.

That time—when I slouched—it was because of pain.

After that day, a man named Ulf approached my mother and asked to take over my training. My mother, having treated my dislocated shoulder, agreed, and Torstein did not challenge his elder.

I learned that Ulf had been the man who taught my father how to wield his sword. He seemed so old to me at the time—though, looking back, I figure that he was only in his early fifties when he took notice of me. Age, however, was different back then, and—if memory served—Ulf was the oldest person in our community.

Ulf's hair was gray, and he wore it in a single long braid. He'd married and had seven children, but—when I knew him—he had no family left. His wife and two of his daughters had died of a fever. His three sons had died in battle. And his other two daughters hadn't survived their childhood.

Initially, I'd been intimidated by Ulf, even as I'd been skeptical of him because of his age. But I soon learned that I should be neither. Ulf's first move had been to change the location of my training to a field near his own home, which was located just outside of the main village.

He trained me in private. And, though he worked me as hard as Torstein ever had, Ulf did not deride me when my body could not cooperate. On the contrary, he would adopt the moves to fit my body.

Within a month, I was carrying my shoulders more confidently.

Ulf's first lesson? To _own_ my height _when_ it was to my advantage.

Finally, I began to "fill out" when I was fifteen. As muscle stuck to bone, my body began to obey the commands of my mind, and, by the time I was sixteen, I was the best swordsman in the village—better than even my mentor or my father.

With my mass, it was natural that my arrogance grew too. In addition to winning any sparring matches I participated in, I excelled during raids. I could also win any woman I wanted. For three glorious years, I fucked whomever I wanted and thought myself stronger than anyone.

Until the Weres and Russell killed my family.

Again, I learned my weakness, and again my shoulders slumped.

They had slumped even more when I discovered that Ulf had been hurt badly by the Weres. He'd lived for another two years, but he'd never walked without a stick to help him again.

During those two years, however, he helped me to become a leader of men in a way I'd never learned before. From Ulf, I learned that slumping could be useful to me—even as a king. When I did it, my advisors would feel more "equal" to me, and that was advantageous at times. It fostered partnership and mutual respect.

However, if they began to question me, I could stand straighter and use my height to intimidate.

Since I have been vampire, I have slumped my shoulders too many times to count—for a variety of reasons. To be inconspicuous, I slumped to appear smaller. When I disappointed my maker, I slumped to demonstrate my contrition. I also bowed my shoulders in deference to my maker. And—of course—on the Dallas rooftop, my shoulders had dipped as I'd pled with Godric.

And then again as I'd despaired the loss of him.

Now my shoulders were slumped because I'd hurt my child; I'd damaged our relationship irrevocably. Because of what I'd done to her—and because of what she'd tried to do to my beloved—we would never be the same. And I knew that I would, indeed, need to release her. And I also knew that it would hurt us both.

Once upon a time, Pamela had _chosen_ to be made—asked to walk the world with me—but it was time she learned to walk on her own, especially now that she had her own child.

Speaking of said child, Tara Thornton was occupying my chair as I passed by Bill. To her credit, it took only a look from me to get her out of it. I could sense her "sensing" my superior strength. And she quickly vacated the office.

That was a good sign that she would be easily taught to understand vampires' ways. I looked at Bill; clearly, he'd not had that kind of intuition as a whelp, but—eventually—he'd learned.

At least well enough.

I sat down heavily in my chair.

**"Not Pam,"** I said simply, though our confrontation hadn't been simple at all.

"**You're certain?"** Bill asked. From his tone, it was clear that Pam had been his chief suspect. Given how much she hated Sookie and resented my regard for her, I couldn't blame him. It was why I'd needed to "test" her, after all.

"**She knows nothing,"** I said firmly. **"What did Tara say?"**

"**Nothing to suggest that she or Pam knew anything about Russell."**

I shook my head slightly. Bill and I both knew that I had asked my question because I wanted information about Sookie, and it was clear that he _did_ know some news of her. But he wasn't telling.

There was that douche again. I sighed. Maybe the bromance was waning.

"**You certain there's no one else you've told? Not even your sister?"** he continued.

I rolled my eyes. Yep, the days of our bromance were _definitely_ numbered if he was going to ask such idiotic questions.

"**You mean the one who was **_**in**_** the Authority? I'd hope you think more of me,"** I answered somewhat snidely.

"**Russell's the great martyr to the opposition,"** Bill said passionately as if he were now "mini-Roman." I scoffed.

"**If she were planning a coup, he could be very useful,"** Bill added.

I resented the insinuation, though I figured it was true in some ways. However, I doubted that Nora was the source of the opposition. **"If Nora were planning a coup, I would've known about it,"** I responded. **"And I still wouldn't have given her Russell. I'm not suicidal."**

Bill looked like he wanted to question me further, but then he thought better of it. Of course, he didn't know that Russell had been my enemy for even longer than Nora had been my sister, so I gave him a little slack.

"**And you're sure you didn't tell anyone? Jessica?"** I asked, turning around the questions onto him.

"**If I had, we would've gone to her first,"** Bill responded in a way that led me to believe him. **"We need to go to ground. And tomorrow, we'll have to cast the net wider. There's a leak somewhere." **

Didn't I fucking know it! And now my chief suspect was one Alcide Herveaux.

* * *

><p>On rare occasions, I'd forced myself to stay awake during the day. During the last year, I'd done so quite a bit—relatively speaking.<p>

I'd stayed awake the day after I'd killed Talbot, trying to figure out what my next move might be.

I'd stayed up for an hour after dawn in order to trick Russell into the sun.

I'd stayed up two hours just that morning in order to monitor Sookie through our bond.

The older a vampire got, the easier it was to fight the day, though we could never compete against its light. But that fight was never comfortable. Even for the oldest of us, the bleeds would come after only half an hour or so. And the longer we fought, the more sluggish we would become.

Pain, of course, would keep us awake. I'd spent more than one day wrapped up in silver during the previous weeks in order to avoid the necromancer's spell.

As an older vampire, I also woke up earlier than most others of my kind. I was termed a "dusk riser"—one who woke up about 20-30 minutes before sundown.

But never—_never_ in a thousand years—had I been _pulled_ from my sleep during the day.

Until Sookie.

I'd awoken when she'd returned from Faerie, but then I'd immediately fallen back into my death-sleep.

Now, however, I was jarred by a strike of intense fear—powerlessness.

Panic.

And then pain.

"Fuck!" I yelled into my coffin, slamming my fist against the padded lid.

"Fuck," I repeated, this time more softly as Sookie's pain waned.

And then her fear abated only to be replaced by utter despair.

No. Despondency.

I kept my eyes open and felt her agony along with her.

She did not know that I was "with her," of course, and she could receive no comfort from me. Still—I stayed awake.

The blood began to drip from my ears, nose, and eyes right around the same time that her despair began to become numb.

And then more numb.

And more.

She was drinking—and drinking heavily.

And Sookie Stackhouse was _no_ heavy drinker.

I sighed. I could not blame her for her actions. Many a time had I taken up the bottle when I was a human—hoping to escape from my responsibilities. I'd get drunk and then fuck away the pressures that my father placed upon me. And then—after my family had died—I'd get drunk and fuck away the pain.

That impulse—to disappear for a while into a bottle or to forget using physical pleasure—was not uncommon. And—even at more than a thousand years old—I would try to fuck away any pain I felt. After Godric had killed himself, Yvetta had been a means to that end. And, only a few nights before, I'd fucked Nora because I'd been hurt by Sookie.

It was what Oprah would call a defense mechanism—not that I watched _Oprah_. At least, not that anyone knew.

But—even though I still tried—I knew that neither mead nor sex could take away the sharpest of pains. They would always return.

_Always_.

There was not enough fairy blood in the universe to cover the death of one's maker or the loss of one's beloved.

No matter how soft a woman's thighs, no mere fuck could undo the wounds inflicted by those for whom we truly cared.

As I felt Sookie lose her awareness more and more, I felt the bleeds stop. It was almost night. Soon I would feel Pam again, and Sookie's numbness would have to compete with my child's pain.

I sighed as I felt my shoulders slump even in my coffin.

I knew that something would be dying soon—a bond I'd had for a hundred years.

However, as I thought about my beautiful progeny—_min dottir_—I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd made the right choice in turning her. Maybe I'd not felt "the pull" as Godric had with me or Nora, but Pamela was a fine vampire. I was proud of her.

A bloody tear slipped from my eye—this one not from the bleeds.

I chuckled ruefully, wondering if Sookie would let me drink from her after I'd severed one of the most important bonds of my life. It would be nice to feel numb afterwards.

Despite the fact that I knew the numbness wouldn't last.

It never did.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So you might remember that Sookie'd been having a horrible night. As Eric had confronted Pam, many others were deriding Sookie. She'd told Alcide the truth about Debble (of course, Alcide took no responsibility for abjuring Debbie and not warning Sookie that she'd gone batshit crazy), and Lafayette had told her that she was the angel of death (conveniently deflecting from the fact that Lafayette had been the one who initially wanted Tara turned). Then, Sookie'd gone to Jason-trying to get him to arrest her; she was trying to take responsibility for her actions. He told her no-that they'd cover things up. The next day, she drives home from another taxing day at work (because of everyone's thoughts) and her car, which had been tampered with by "demonic" Lafayette, went crazy and she had to bail out. I think I'd get drunk too! I see the whole Sookie/Alcide episode as being a lot like the Nora/Eric ones-an attempt to forget pain that doesn't ultimately provide comfort. And, though I didn't like Sookie's actions 'cause I "ship E/S," I can't say that I haven't done dumb things to try to forget pain. **

**On another note, for this chapter, I really enjoyed thinking about that shoulder slump of Eric's and wondering about how many times he'd slumped in order to be more equal in height to someone. And then I thought about how Vikings really weren't gigantic people. The average male height really was about 5'6" according to historians and scientists who have studied human bones from that time period. So if there had been a man almost a foot taller than the others, what would it have been like? Would have his people felt that he was blessed by the gods? Or would have they thought something else? And just what made Eric so arrogant in some of those flashbacks? Had there been some issues we didn't know about? Had he been "acting out" as Sookie is about to? Anyway, once I started thinking, I let me imagination go. **

**The moment in Eric's office is also the first time that we see the "bromance" that was shown between Eric and Bill dissipating. I always thought it was interesting that, even when the "fit hit the shan" later on in the season, Eric tries to retain some loyalty to Bill. But the closer bond that seemed to form between them because of their common interests is fading (because, in my opinion, Bill's ultimately the egoist-and the douche. God complex-much?) **

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter, especially the added bits.**

**Until the next,**

**Kat**


	23. Chapter 23: Equal Footing

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23: Equal Footing<strong>

Bill and I had agreed to a stratagem before we'd gone to our rest—me in my coffin in my secured room at Fangtasia and him in the ground somewhere.

To each his own.

The new angle we were pursuing? Bugs.

Bill had posited the question: What if someone had planted listening devices and knew about Russell's entombment because of those?

I suppose I _could_ have been offended by the insinuation that I'd been "bugged."

But I wasn't. Many had "bugged" me over the years—with Sophie-Anne being the last of them. Of course, I had known about that infestation, even before she'd "caught me off guard" with the information. But—sometimes—being "bugged" was a stratagem in and of itself.

Yes—others _could_ listen.

But I could say whatever I wished for them to hear, and there was power in that.

Yet—I took pride in knowing _when_ I was being listened to, so when Bill suggested that I was being surveilled without my knowledge, I'd been offended. However, I was also practical. In the twenty minutes since I'd risen, I'd checked every nook and cranny of Fangtasia. Twice.

No bugs—except for a cricket. I let it be. Hopefully, it meant my luck would turn.

When Bill rose from wherever he was resting, he would be going to his own home—to check for listening devices. He swore that not much had been said there, but—apparently—it "might have been" enough to lead others to Russell. Thus, the possibility that someone had been monitoring him needed to be checked out.

I remembered only one conversation between Bill and me that could have "hinted" at Russell's location—one where I gave him my dry cleaning bill for the clothing he'd caused to be damaged. Cement was a bitch to get out! The bill had cost more than the clothes. However, Russell's name had not been spoken. A part of me wondered if Bill wanted to go to Bon Temps for another reason, but we'd agreed not to bring Sookie into the situation. And I hoped that he would abide by that.

After he was done with his own bug-check, Bill was to return to Fangtasia. Then we would decide on our next step—which would, inevitably, center on Herveaux and his pathetic-looking employee, Doug, who'd been the one to discover that the concrete had been disturbed.

I sipped a TruBlood and "listened in" on the drunken oblivion of my bonded. _Sookie_ wasn't there—at least, not in any significant way. Her feelings were flippant and vacillating—like waves on a stormy sea. No—she didn't "feel" like Sookie at all. She felt like a shell—a shell filled with cheap booze.

I finished my truly hideous synthetic blood in a long gulp—wanting to get the meal over with.

I craved real blood, but I wondered if I could drink it without feeling guilty if it didn't come from my bonded. Indeed, the very thought of feeding from a live donor made my stomach churn.

"Goddamn you, Sookie," I whispered as I tossed my empty bottle into the recycling. I walked toward the basement entrance and then stopped. "That's not to say that I don't still fucking love you," I sighed, speaking to a woman who wasn't there.

I shook my head as I steeled myself for my next task.

I had felt Pam rise a few minutes before. I knew it was time to let her go—though a part of me screamed to stay where I was. I felt my shoulders slumping as I moved my feet, opened the basement door, and descended the stairs.

I'd faced horrors. I'd faced sorrows. But I'd never even contemplated _willingly_ breaking a bond.

When Godric had burned in the sun, I'd been in my room—waiting to _feel_ him during his last moments.

The pain of our bond dying had doubled me over. Worse than any silver, it had pierced me—stabbed into my very soul.

My feet felt heavy as Pam met me before I could get all the way down the stairs.

I almost smiled. It was so like her to greet the pain that confronted her. She'd always been brave—defiantly so.

"**Where's Bill?"** she asked.

"**He had an errand,"** I responded. **"Sit," **I instructed softly, even as I sat down on the steps. Pam followed suit, looking at me as if I could tell her all the answers—looking _to me_ as if I could offer salvation.

I could offer neither answers nor sanctuary.

I could sense that Pam's child was in the vicinity, too; however, Tara had apparently injured herself the night before, so she'd likely "sleep in" so that she could finish healing.

So Pam and I would have privacy in the moments to come—as sacred as they would be. As heart-wrenching as they would be.

"**We shouldn't fool ourselves,"** I began, my voice sounding rough to my ears, though I'd intended for it to sound comforting.

I supposed there wasn't much comfort to be had in that moment.

In that moment, I envied Sookie her numbness.

"**Searching for Russell Edgington is a suicide mission,"** I continued honestly. **"Even if Bill and I do get him, we'd still be facing a treason charge." **

Honesty could be fucking brutal! Indeed, I figured that Roman—or someone else in the Authority—had another purpose in mind for Bill and me. But I could be wrong. And—if I was—I wasn't going to drag my child down with me.

Pam looked at me with confusion. **"I thought you had friends in the Authority."**

"**A friend,"** I corrected, **"and she can't help me anymore."** Pam had always thought that my 'friend' was a woman I'd seduced at some point. She had no idea that she was my sister—or a Chancellor. _Ex_-chancellor. **"Either Russell will have our heads—or the Authority will. There is no other option," **I continued, though I knew I was lying. The other option was becoming Roman's lapdog. And—though I wasn't keen on that—I would be able to retain my life.

And maybe protect my progeny.

And my bonded.

"**I'll go with you. We've defeated Russell before. We can put up a fight against the Authority!" **Pam argued fervently, though ultimately uselessly. There was no fight we could mount against the Authority as it was currently structured. Moreover, we'd defeated Russell only because of Sookie. And I was bound and determined to keep Sookie and Pam out of the fray this time.

"**Listen,"** I responded. **"The end may come soon, and I can't have you there."**

Indeed, I would not risk Pam—for many reasons—not this time. If I was to be no more, then Nora would likely suffer that fate too. And then Pamela would be the eldest vampire in Godric's line. I was counting on her to carry on—especially now that she had a child.

"**Eric, I want to,"** Pam implored.

She'd always been one for trying to tell fate to fuck off. That's why I'd turned her. "Pull" or no pull—the world was a much more "badass" place because my progeny was in it _as vampire_. Despite Godric's reservations, I'd never regretted making her.

Nor would I ever.

"**No,"** I replied**. "What you said in anger—you were right. I have to release you. And it's not because I don't trust you or because I don't care. It's because you are my only progeny. My one legacy. I need you to live when I'm gone."**

I smelled the metallic scent of bloody tears as they filled Pam's eyes. To hide them, she looked down, and I could see—and sense—that understanding was filling her. I sighed. Once our bond was gone, I would no longer be able to feel Pam's emotions. Only a tiny strand of our bond would survive—enough to let me know that she was alive. Her emotions would leave me. The ability to track her would leave me. And—in turn—she would no longer feel me at all.

_Not at all._

"**If that is your wish,"** she said with a mixture of strength and sorrow, **"I understand. I accept." **

My wish? What was my wish? Moreover, when had I last allowed myself to have a wish—other than the time which I'd spent without my memories? During that time, I'd done nothing but wish. But before—and after—the need to be something for someone else had stifled my own wishes for myself.

A child to my maker.

A maker to my child.

An avenger for my parents.

Hell—I'd even been the director of my own _Extreme Home Makeover_—though I'd done it without ever allowing myself to "wish" about an outcome.

And now? What did I wish?

Simple. To live in that remade home with my beloved. To have my child nearby and safe. To feel—_whole_.

I didn't think my wishes were out of the ordinary. In fact, I imagined them to be quite mundane. A home. A family. Love. Peace.

I'd taken these things for granted before—with my human family.

I looked at my lone vampire child. Maybe my epic failure as a son to my human father had been what had made me so hesitant to change a human into my child.

Pam—which was the name she'd preferred for me to call her since the 1920s—was working hard to blink away her tears. But I could see that she was also marshalling strength. No—I'd not been pulled to her, but I was fucking ecstatic that I'd turned her.

I was grateful for her.

_My_ Pamela put her hand on my arm, as if trying to both give and take strength. And then—with the grace and resilience of the Madame I'd met long ago—she stood with a sigh and faced me.

Faced her fears.

"**Do it,"** she said.

She'd once asked me to "make" her. And—now—once I did what I had to do, I would be "un-making" a little of us both.

I stood as well, but for a moment I looked anywhere but her.

For more than a century, I had fostered her.

I had trained her.

I had admired her.

I had spoiled her.

I had loved her.

I gathered myself and looked into her big blue eyes. I could see that she was ready—even if I wasn't. Still—I knew what needed to be done.

So I did it.

"**Pamela, I renounce the ties of our blood and my dominion over you as my progeny," **I said solemnly, bracing myself for the pain I knew was coming. The empty ache of our lost bond would be worse than the immediate pain in a lot of ways. But the emptiness would come later. First, we would feel the scald that came with broken magic.

"**As your maker," **I paused, **"I release you"**

When Godric had met the sun, a part of me had burned with him—that part which had been _his_ for a thousand years. Pam had been mine for only one-tenth of that amount of time. Still—the magic that had turned her and had given me power over her burned us both as the words I'd uttered took effect.

In the midst of that pain, Pam could no longer hold in her tears as she reached for me. I held her close, comforted by her presence. One of my hands was on the back of her head, and Pam placed her hand over mine as I caressed her hair tenderly.

The physical pain was fleeting—now little more than an irritation. A cut with a hint of salt in it.

However, the ache was already forming.

Gone was my ability to sense my child—or Tara through her.

Gone was my ability to _feel_ where she was—unless I was literally holding her.

All that was left was a faint echo of her inside of me; indeed, it was just enough to let me know that she was still "un-dead." Nothing more than that.

Still, a part of me wished that she could have a similar, though tiny, assurance of my continued existence. However, that wasn't the way the magic worked.

I sighed. Bond or no—I still felt the same amount of affection for my child.

If anything, that affection—and my appreciation for her—had grown during the last few minutes. And I needed her to understand that.

We had lost something, but we had gained something too.

I closed my eyes and swayed her slightly as if I were rocking a child.

"**You are my child,"** I said, still stroking her hair. **"As I was a child of Godric. You were born into greatness." **

At my words, Pamela pulled away so that she could look at me.

"**And you're a maker now,"** I said, my hands over her cheeks, and her hands moving to settle over mine again. **"Our blood will thrive. You understand?"**

She nodded.

I kissed her forehead before pulling her back into my embrace. Her sobs became stronger, so I held her tighter.

We stood on the steps to what Pam liked to call the dungeon for a while—hovering in a kind of limbo both physically and emotionally.

When her cries finally stopped, I pulled away and smiled softly down at her, wiping away as many of her tears as I could and smudging others. I ignored the ones that had fallen from my own eyes.

"You will always be my child, Pamela. _Always_!" I added fervently, hoping that my words would absorb into her as my magic had once.

"I know," she said as one last tear slipped from her eye.

I thumbed it away as well.

"I always taught you that there was nothing more important than the blood," I said.

"I know. I'll remember. I promise."

"Don't. I _may_ have been wrong," I said with a little smirk.

Her perfectly-shaped eyebrow lifted impossibly high. "Well—now I know the world's comin' to an end if you're admitting fallibility, Mr. Northman," she said with a leftover sob that she tried to pretend was a laugh.

Pretending with her, I chuckled. But when I spoke, my tone was sincere. "Maybe there are things more important than the blood—after all. Maybe having more equal footing is better than having blood dominance," I stated, looking at her pointedly.

"Really?" she asked, her voice a little hopeful.

"You are a magnificent vampire, Pamela Swynford de Beaufort. You were born for this existence, and you no longer need me holding you back," I said, smirking again by the time I got to the end of my sentence.

"I'm glad you finally recognized that," she said, sounding almost as snarky as usual, though her voice still quivered with emotion.

I chuckled. "Now—go be a maker to your brat. She is going to—perhaps—be even more trouble for you than you were for me."

"What do you mean?" Pam asked, sassily. "I was perfect from the start."

I winked. "Then I wish you a child just as," I paused, "_perfect_ as you were."

"Fuck you!" Pam grinned.

I was heartened. With her 'fuck you,' I knew my progeny still loved me—in her way. And I knew that we could rebuild the trust that had been between us, perhaps even strengthening it along the way.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: First of all, I have to say that the original scene in TB regarding the breaking of the child-maker bond was one of my favorites of the season. I really loved how the actors played these minutes. So poignant. Since it was good to start with, I retained much of the dialogue (credited in bold, of course). My main additions were at the beginning and the end. I wanted to leave Eric and Pam "okay." And it was also emotional to write Eric's inner thoughts during the scene. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Kat**


	24. Chapter 24: Bad Dog

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24: Bad Dog<strong>

Not unexpectedly, I was melancholy after releasing Pamela. And I was goddamned impatient! Bill had been due an hour before, but had just called to tell me he'd been "delayed" in Bon Temps.

I tapped my fingers on my desk and then stood up.

Bon Temps—_where Sookie was_!

Bill was to get in and to get out! He was to _quickly_ check his home for bugs and then come back! He was _not_ to spend an unnecessary minute there—just a graveyard away from Sookie.

For fucks sake! He was being tracked!

By the Authority!

No. He _certainly_ wasn't supposed to _allow_ himself to be delayed. I sneered; it didn't take a rocket science to know the origin of that delay either: Sookie.

I found myself striding toward the backdoor of Fangtasia before I could even register that I was moving. As I took to the air, I analyzed what I was feeling through my bond with Sookie—just as I'd been periodically doing all night.

If possible, she was even drunker than before, her emotions that mixture of numbness and euphoria that came just before illness—if memory served. I'd been there before, and—though it had been a thousand years—making a fool out of myself because of drink was _not_ a memory that had left me.

Let's just say that my mother had "saved" my messes for me to clean. Memorable, indeed. And fucking disgusting—especially with a hangover!

As I neared Bon Temps, I felt a new emotion rising inside of Sookie: lust. Oh, it wasn't the "good" kind of lust, the kind that rose from unbridled passion for another. No—she was experiencing the kind of thoughtless lust of one who'd lost the capacity to think at all.

Or who didn't want to think.

I'd never pitied Sookie before, but I found myself doing just that. She was trying to hide her pain—first through drink and then through carnal oblivion. I pitied her because I _knew_ it wouldn't work. I pitied myself because I hated the way her lust made me feel.

Hypocritical feelings—given the fact that I'd fucked two different women in the last three nights.

TWO!

And one of them had been because I—like Sookie—had wanted to find sweet oblivion for a moment.

Yes. I pitied her—as I'd pitied myself before I'd fucked Nora.

Of course, as I flew even faster, I was also as mad as hell. The word, "mine," came to mind—even though I knew Sookie didn't belong to me. But that didn't stop the thought from echoing through my thoughts as if I were standing at the bottom of a fucking canyon!

_Mine_.  
>But <em>not<em> mine. Clearly.

I'd already bypassed Sookie's home and was on my way to Bill's when I picked up his fucking trail! It led from his door toward her property.

"Fuck!" I seethed inwardly. What was Bill doing? We'd agreed to stay away from Sookie. We'd vowed NOT to do anything to potentially put her on the Authority's radar! And then I had an equally nauseating thought. What if it was Bill who was eliciting Sookie's lust?

"Hell! Even one of the dogs would be better," I said under my breath, not even capable of fathoming the hurt I would feel if Sookie was with Bill.

I stopped in the cemetery for a moment and glanced at the grave of Adele Stackhouse. It was there that Sookie's trail had ended more than a year before—when she'd gone missing. I contemplated staying where I was, but—again—my feet moved toward my bonded without the permission of my brain.

I was slightly heartened when I saw Bill, standing just inside the tree line of Sookie's property. He seemed far away from the house, but—with his vampire vision—he was a regular peeping Tom.

And then I, too, became one as I saw my bonded through the window. She was kissing the wolf, and he was practically mauling her. It was a sight I didn't want to see.

But I couldn't look away.

It was the definition of agony, so—of course—I acted with bitterness.

After all, I was just starting to accept that I had feelings. I wasn't about to hold myself accountable for "being adult" about them.

Fuck my thousand years. I felt like a jealous preteen!

**"Awkward time for a drop-in, Bill,"** I intoned as if I weren't being ripped apart at the sight of my bonded with the mutt!

Bill spewed something about Jessica telling him that Sookie had been having a rough time lately. Yeah—right. I'm sure that Bill would have taken _any_ excuse to see her—especially without me there.

Fucking prick! Of course, I would have done the same—_if_ I didn't have a GPS device from the Authority hooked up to me!

**"Hmm. She seems to be recovering nicely,"** I said, trying to hurt him and succeeding in hurting myself in the process. In truth, I knew that she was _not_ recovering nicely. I felt her desire to separate herself from her pain. I knew that she was using her body—Alcide's body—to do that. I could understand that, but it didn't mean I wanted to watch it!

**"Can we go back to looking for Russell now?"** I asked, hoping against hope that Bill would just agree. We could go and question Doug, leaving Sookie behind in relative safety—at least for the night.

Of course, Bill had to choose "douche-dom" in that moment.

Fucking prick—indeed!

"**We **_**are**_** looking for Russell. Clearly without any success,"** he said. ** "Sookie could be useful." **

Bill was speaking and acting like a lover scorned. There was an edge to his tone—one that told me that he wanted to somehow punish Sookie for seeking comfort with the Were.

I suppose that a baser part of myself wanted that too. Sookie had, after all, rejected both Bill and me only days earlier—after telling us _both_ that she loved us!

Yes—the green-eyed monster wanted to reign in me. Hell—he wanted me to run into Sookie's home, which I thought of as _our_ home, and kill the fucking Were!

He wanted me to hurt Sookie for hurting me. He wanted _her_ to suffer for the suffering she'd caused.

But that monster wasn't me. Sookie was young. Her confusion had led her to what I felt was an error, and—as much as cursing her with a "fuck Sookie" had been my mantra since she'd rejected me—I _couldn't_ wish her danger, pain, or suffering.

I simply wasn't capable of it.

Thus, I tried to dissuade my king. **"I don't think she wants anything to do with us again,"** I said, allowing my hurt—and maybe a little of my love—to come through in my voice, hoping it would remind Bill of his own hurt and love.

It didn't.

Fucking prick!

"**I don't think we give her the choice,"** he said bitterly.

Fuck!

I reminded Bill of what we'd discussed the night before. "We agreed that she was _not_ to become a target," I said in a rushed whisper.

"Even when we are not involved, Sookie excels at being the target of someone or another," Bill reasoned. "And she could very well be Russell's primary target, given what she did to Talbot. Best for her if Russell is out of the way, and I believe she could help with that. The man with whom we are to speak, Doug—what if she can hear his thoughts despite any glamour?"

My teeth clenched. "If we use her, the Authority could learn about her."

"Not if she merely listens to Doug and then goes on her way," he insisted.

"She won't," I responded. "Not her. If she thinks she is helping us, she won't just leave."

"We'll make the wolf take her away," Bill smirked, walking toward Sookie's home.

I closed my eyes. I could stop Bill—defy my king. But—if I did—I would lose my ability to keep a watchful eye on him. And—certainly—any conflict between us would lead to immediate Authority intervention.

And that would lead to even more danger for Sookie.

"Why did Bill come to Sookie's?" I silently asked myself. But even as I asked, I realized the truth: no matter the words he spouted, Bill wouldn't be leaving Sookie alone—no matter what.

And that was how he and I differed. I was willing to stay in the shadows of her life—in order to ensure that she kept one.

I realized that it was even more essential that I keep my eye on Bill now—and keep him thinking that I was his _obedient_ subject—or, at least, his _somewhat_ obedient subject.

I sighed and played follow the leader to my king.

* * *

><p>I heard the Were moan out Sookie's name as if it were a question as Bill and I approached the house.<p>

I heard her respond that she didn't want to talk any more.

Herveaux picked her up and took her upstairs.

Fucking Were!

He should have _insisted_ that she think for a moment. Hell—if he had any honor—he would have denied his baser instincts and insisted that they wait to fuck until she was sober.

Bad dog!

As soon as Bill and I entered the kitchen, I smelled blood—the blood of Debbie Pelt, covered up by ammonia, lemon cleaner, and baking soda. But there was blood still, though the scent was faint. I opened the refrigerator and took out a TruBlood, kicking a tooth from the Were-bitch further under the appliance.

"Hungry?" Bill asked impatiently.

"Habit," I smirked.

He rolled his eyes and gave me a disapproving look—as if I craved his approval.

To placate him, I put the blood back and shrugged. "Some habits are difficult to break," I remarked.

Yeah—like loving Sookie Stackhouse.

As we went up the stairs, I couldn't help but to put together the pieces of the puzzle I'd felt from Sookie during the previous nights. Alcide's Were-bitch was dead. Tara was turned. Sookie had felt terror and then trepidation and then anxiety and then guilt several days before.

I was good at math.

Debbie had likely broken into Sookie's home, planning to kill her. Why Herveaux had ever taken the bitch back after she'd tried to kill Sookie before was beyond me!

But—_whatever_.

However, why Herveaux hadn't kept his bitch from harming my bonded was unforgiveable!

Very bad dog!

I worked hard to calm myself so that I didn't rush in and snap the Were's neck.

If my supposition was correct, then Debbie had tried to kill Sookie, but had killed Tara instead. Looking for me, Pam had come to Sookie's home and had been begged by Sookie or Lafayette—or both—to turn Tara. Pam had agreed in exchange for Sookie making sure I came back to speak with her—thus the, "Sookie did it," comment from Pam the night before.

Adding to her guilt, Sookie had likely received the blame for the entire situation from everyone around her: Tara, Lafayette, Sam, her brother, and Alcide. Taking a life—even a bitch's life—and suffering the judgment from those around her had likely been the sources of her pain during the past days.

I ran down the list of people Sookie counted as her loved ones.

Tara.

Lafayette.

Sam.

Jason.

Alcide.

She would have heard their derision and "heard" their scathing thoughts—except in Tara's case. But that was small comfort.

And—now—the fucking Were was about to fuck Sookie over in another way—while his bitch was still warm in the ground!

Bad dog!

Couldn't he tell that Sookie was broken? Hopeless? Alone? Vulnerable?

Drunk?

Bad dog!

I heard clothing hit the floor.

"I've waited so long for this," Alcide said, making me fucking sick. I'd arranged for his services to protect Sookie, and he'd been hung up on Debbie even then. He _might_ have been attracted to Sookie. Who wouldn't be? But _he'd_ waited? I could count maybe a day or two that he'd pined! He'd certainly not helped me when it came to searching for Sookie after she'd gone missing. Oh—he'd been ready to take my money when it came to fixing up Sookie's house, but he'd put in a high bid, thinking I'd choose him because of his previous dealings with Sookie.

I hadn't. Instead, I'd chosen Scott Cusmano, a contractor with more experience in restoring homes the age of Sookie's than Herveaux did. Cusmano was a human, though gracious when it came to vampires. He was also willing to learn—and be glamoured—when it came to resting places and such. Most importantly, he was willing to work only at night so that I could oversee everything. Alcide had scoffed at my request to have only night crews—despite the fact that I'd already installed lights enough to simulate the noon sun.

However, on the work being done during the night only, I'd refused to compromise. I'd wanted everything to be put back to rights as much as possible—even as I'd made some upgrades.

Cusmano had turned out to be the right choice. He'd been thorough and conscientious, and he'd always understood when I needed to halt the crew's progress in order to make sure that things were just right. I'd paid the contractor twice his asked-for price, and when he tried to refuse the bonus, I'd glamoured him to accept!

I scoffed. I wouldn't sell Sookie short by saying that Alcide didn't truly want her. In my mind, only a fool would not. However, I _would_ sell Alcide short. His "wanting" came only when he wasn't otherwise occupied.

"Alcide," Sookie said, replying to the Were's previous 'confession' that he'd been waiting so long for her. Her voice was passionate, but I could hear that there was something 'off' about it. I'd heard her cry out in passion enough to know that there was something wrong.

That something 'wrong' turned out to be vomit—on the Were's feet.

Gods—it smelled foul! But it was fucking beautiful, nonetheless!

"Alcide, you sure know how to treat a lady," I couldn't keep myself from saying, making sure my tone was edged with both sarcasm and judgment toward him.

Sookie turned to face Bill and me. She gagged again. The Were growled.

I chuckled. In that moment, my eyes were for her only. And I kept the pity from them, for I knew she wouldn't like that.

"What the fuck?" the Were asked angrily.

"Alcide, please," Sookie said, her voice tired. She looked at us all one by one and then, gagging again, ran to her bathroom.

In the next second, it was obvious that the toilet was seeing a close-up of her beautiful face.

Bill and Alcide both looked a little uncertain, so I hurried to the kitchen to get a glass of water for Sookie. I was sure she'd need it, and she never kept a glass in the bathroom as some humans did. During the day I'd been under silver, we'd spent a good deal of time talking about inconsequential things. One of those things was her unusual habit of putting a plastic bag over her toothbrush. She told me about an article that she'd read. The piece had talked about how tiny particles of water and human waste were released into the air when the toilet was flushed. She'd rambled on and on about how she'd told Jason all about the article, but that he still kept his toothbrush uncovered and a glass in the bathroom—a glass which hardly ever got washed.

Disgusting.

When I got back to the bedroom, Alcide and Bill were both looking at me uncertainly—their noses twitching to indicate their displeasure at the scent that had covered Sookie usual ambrosia. Fucking lightweights!

"Inebriated humans often vomit," I said in my best "bar owner" tone.

They nodded as I walked into the bathroom, where Sookie was "worshipping the porcelain god."

"Water," I said, setting the beverage on the counter, "when you are ready for it." I pulled out a hand towel and wet it with cool water before draping it around her neck. I rifled through her medicine cabinet and found Midol. It would have to do.

I then took out a larger towel, soaked it, and zipped back into the bedroom. I threw it at the Were.

"What's this for?" the mongrel asked.

"Clean," I said, pointing to Sookie's vomit, which had—sadly—mostly missed him.

"I'm not a fucking maid!" he yelled.

I vamped over to him and took him by his meaty throat. "No—but you _are_ the one who would have taken advantage of her while she was drunk and hurting! When she was not _Sookie_!" I emphasized with a growl.

The Were had the grace to look mildly ashamed—but not enough in my opinion. "Fuck you. She's the one that made the first move," he growled.

I squeezed just a little harder, but—for Sookie's sake—I didn't do any real damage.

Pity. If the fucking Were knew anything about Sookie at all, he would have understood that she was not the kind of girl who'd like to wake up with both a hangover and a man she wasn't in a serious relationship with—no matter how "long" the Were had _supposedly_ been waiting for her.

Bad dog!

I let the Were go when I heard more retching from Sookie. I glanced over at Bill. His nose now twitching comically, he was looking toward the bathroom door as if a rotting corpse were inside.

"Do you know how to make the human drink—coffee?" I asked him.

"What?" he asked, looking at me cluelessly.

"There is a coffee maker in the kitchen. Instructions are in the drawer below it. Read them and make coffee," I instructed.

Still, he looked mystified.

"Humans use the drink to sober up," I sighed, as I went to Sookie's closet and got her robe.

"What are you going to do?" Bill asked.

I sighed. "Sookie is ill and now has vomit in her hair. I will suggest that she take a shower and then join us downstairs."

"You'd better not be intending to 'help her' shower," Alcide snarled.

Bad dog.

At least he had started to clean up the mess.

Good dog.

I shook my head and went back into the bathroom. Sookie was still poised over the toilet.

"Why is the earth spinnin' so fast?" she moaned.

"It is spinning at the same rate as usual—as far as I can tell," I smirked.

She managed to move her head enough to glare at me.

Progress.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, somewhat angrily.

"I am here to bring you this," I said, putting her robe onto the counter. "Once you are done with your 'friend'," I smirked, looking at the toilet, "you should brush your teeth and shower. Then drink the water I brought you and take two of your Midol tablets."

"I'm not a baby. I know what to do!" she spit out.

"Do you?" I asked, trying to hide my hurt and jealousy.

She stood up on shaky feet and turned to fully face me—as always. My heart swelled for her—as always.

"I meant why are you and Bill here?"

"There will be coffee waiting downstairs," I said, turning around, "and answers—when you are sober enough to hear them."

"I'm tired of everyone judging me," she said, her voice sounding even more tired than before. "_Please_—I don't need it from you, too."

I sighed.

"I'm trying not to judge either of us, Sookie," I said softly, before leaving the room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, I'm letting out a lot of my frustration with Alcide in this chapter. How does he go from deriding Sookie so much to getting drunk with her and then being prepared to sleep w/ her the next night. I don't read him as being drunk enough not to know better, so in my view he's taking advantage of her obvious pain and self-flagellation. Yes-Sookie's a grown up and can make her own choices. And she and Alcide are both on the "rebound" to a certain extent, but I'm mostly with Eric here...BAD DOG.**

**I hope you enjoyed the extended scenes! I always wanted to explore how they got from the bedroom to the kitchen table. :)**

**Kat**


	25. Chapter 25: Reason Why

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: Reason Why<strong>

"**Theirs not to reason why,**

**Theirs but to do & die."**

**from "The Charge Of The Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson**

* * *

><p>It turns out that I had to make the coffee when I found Bill trying to make the beverage without grinding the beans first.<p>

Idiot. Hadn't he ever made coffee as a human?

Of course, the Were had refused to help, though he'd been quick to pour himself a cup.

Asshole.

As Sookie drank her first sips, she seemed determined to dominate the 'conversation'—actually her words were more like a rambling monologue, complete with slurring.

It was charming and enlightening. And I was thoroughly enjoying it.

And—even more—I was enjoying just being near her.

"I mean—how much more am I supposed to take?" Sookie's ramble continued. "Serial killers—check. A maenad—check. A fanatical religious group—check. Oh—and by the way—Jason told me that Steve Newlin's a vampire now—so _that_ should be awesome," she added as an aside before taking another sip of coffee. "Where was I?"

"The Fellowship," I supplied.

"Oh—yes—thanks. Speaking of which—did you know that I was almost raped there? So _that_ can get added to the 'terrible tally' too! Of course, that's when Godric appeared. I think he appeared out of thin air—come to think of it. Hey—can y'all do that? Appear out of thin air?"

"No," I said with a smirk.

"Sookie, we need to get down to business," Bill said with an eye roll.

Sookie ignored him. "'Cause fairies can—appear out of thin air." She snapped her fingers and took another drink. "Wait—where was I?"

"Fairies—out of thin air," I said, snapping and sitting back in my chair. I was enjoying her diatribe, though not all of her accompanying emotions. I wanted her happy.

"That's right! Fairies—check. Witches—check. Possessed witches—check. Hey," she said, looking at me pointedly, "you're old!"

"Correct," I smiled.

"Did you know that witches could be possessed by _other_ witches?"

"Nope," I responded. "I'd never seen _that_ before."

She shrugged. "Guess ya learn somethin' new every day?"

"With you around—_more_ than one thing," I grinned.

"Where was I?" she asked after she swallowed another sip.

"Possessed witches," I reminded.

"Right!" she said, taking another sip. "Hey—this coffee's really good! Anyway. Wait. Where was I?"

"Still at witches," I chuckled.

"Right! Demons—check. Crazy Weres—check. Sorry, Alcide, but Debbie was crazy. I mean—she did try to kill me. More than once. Why'd you take her back again?"

"I—uh . . . ," Alcide started.

"Never mind! Doesn't matter!" Sookie interrupted with a wave of her hand.

The Were got up from the table and moved behind Bill and me—obviously to brood.

The view was better without him at the table. And—thankfully—he'd finally decided to clean off his rank boots.

"Anyway. Wait. Who have I forgotten?" Sookie asked.

"Russell," I supplied.

"Oh—yeah! A three-thousand-year-old vampire—check. A bomb—check. Demons—check.

"You said demons already," Bill sighed.

"But did I say demons _possessing_ a witch?" she asked, glaring at Bill. "Nope—I don't think so!"

"A rocket," I supplied when she took another drink.

"Check!" she enthused. "A car wreck—check!"

"Wait," I said, "when was that?"

"Just today!" she said lifting up her empty coffee cup. "Is there more of this?"

"Check," I said as I zipped into the kitchen to get the pot. I filled her cup and then zipped the carafe back to its heat source.

"Thanks." She took a long sip. "Where was I?"

"Telling us about your car accident," I said as I sat back down.

"Oh—that? _That_ was nothing. My car just went crazy. Hey," she said, looking at me pointedly again, "you're old."

"We've already covered that," Bill said impatiently.

Again, she ignored the king. "Can cars be possessed?"

"Maybe," I returned, contemplating the matter.

"Possessed car—check!" she said.

"Where is your vehicle?" I asked.

"Well—it _was_ wrapped around a pole **'like a giant banana split'**! But Lafayette said he'd call Jeb Lecroy for me to have it towed! Hey—speaking of poles . . . ," she started, before taking a gulp. "Where was I?"

"Poles!" Bill practically snarled.

Asshole. One would think that someone claiming to "love" Sookie wouldn't be impatient in that moment. I glanced at the king. The fuckwit didn't even seem to register that Sookie had almost died that day due to a car that "went crazy!" As for myself, I intended to look into the matter further. My renovations of Sookie's home had also included a new engine and transmission for her car. I quickly texted Bobby to make sure that Lecroy repaired the vehicle from stem to stern. Though I knew Sookie wouldn't accept a new vehicle from me, I could make sure that the mechanic lied his ass off to her about the cost of any repairs. And she would be getting another new engine and transmission no matter what—not that she needed to know about that!

"Who are you texting?" she asked me.

"Secret vampire business," I winked, "but rest assured, I am still _carefully_ listening to you."

She rolled her eyes. "Really? Then, what was I talkin' about before?" she asked, her tone challenging me to provide the correct answer.

"Poles," I grinned. "And—might I add—I have a particular image in mind. You. A pole. A private dance," I added cheekily, even as the Were growled behind me.

Sookie ignored my suggestive remark. "Poles? Really? Poles? What was I saying about them?" she asked.

"No idea," Bill said with another longsuffering sigh.

"Oh well!" she shrugged. "Oh—I almost forgot a vampire queen! _And_ a fairy queen! Two queens—check and check! And three jokers!" she laughed, looking from Alcide to Bill and then to me."

"A full house," I smirked.

"Sookie, enough!" Bill said, his voice raised in exasperation. "We haven't come here to listen to your drunken ramblings!"

"Speak for yourself," I intoned.

Bill glared at me. "You said the shower and the coffee would make her sober."

"Oh, I _am_ sober, dipshit!" she said to Bill. Since the word, 'dipshit' was only slightly slurred, I wasn't about to disagree with her. I didn't want to be a 'dipshit' too. "I just don't wanna hear what you have to say," she added emphatically.

"You seemed curious enough earlier," I smirked.

"Well—_now_ I don't care," she responded.

Bill let out a sigh. "We need your help, Sookie."

"When do you not?" she asked, taking another drink. Seeing her cup was empty, I once again refilled it.

When I sat back down, Bill launched into his explanation, telling Sookie what we wanted her to do: try to read the thoughts of a human who had likely been glamoured.

"**I'm not even sure that's possible,"** Sookie said, clearly more sober now. I could feel her self-doubt. And, as she'd been sobering, I'd also felt her increasing discomfort. At least her frustration regarding Bill and my request had replaced her intense sorrow from earlier.

"**You succeeded before—with Tara,"** Bill said.

I hated the fact that I didn't know what the hell Bill was talking about. I hated that I didn't know everything about my bonded.

"**That was a maenad spell,"** Sookie reminded. **"I've never tried to un-glamour someone."** She frowned a little. **"Where were you guys anyway? We were worried."**

"**Clearly,"** I intoned before I could stop myself. I was glad to feel that she was miffed by my remark, rather than hurt by it.

I didn't want to hurt her.

Sookie gave me something of a challenging look, and I smirked a little—happy to see that her spirit was still there.

At least when it came to me.

With Bill, she was always quick to forgive—_too_ quick in my opinion. With Alcide, she was always quick to overlook his shortcomings—_again_—too quick in my opinion.

With me? Well—she was quick to show me her fire. It wasn't necessarily fair, but I wouldn't have it any other way. In fact, I loved it—loved that she challenged me at every turn. It told me that she expected more of me—even if she didn't acknowledge that. And why shouldn't she expect more? After all, I could give her more, goddammit!

If only she'd let me.

"**Alcide's employee is the only person who can identify whoever it was that freed Russell,"** Bill explained.

I wasn't so sure about that, but—given the fact that I wanted to make sure that Alcide wasn't the leak—it seemed expeditious to pursue the lead.

"**I don't want Doug mixed up in this bullshit. You fangers bring nothing but trouble and death!"** Alcide said unpleasantly.

I reacted to his slur as much as anything else. **"Well, we don't need your permission, **_**wolf**_**." **

Bill turned to face Alcide. **"Russell has been under the ground for over a year, and it'll take him a few days to recuperate, and then when he does, he will be straight out after us on the hunt!"**

Alcide sneered at Bill, **"'Cause you didn't kill him when you had the chance."**

"**What did you say?"** Bill asked acrimoniously.

"**You heard me,"** Alcide practically barked.

What followed could be—at best—described as a 'disagreement' between people of differing opinions. However, what was really happening was three males posturing. We were _arguing_ about one issue—when we wanted to be _fighting_ over a woman.

That woman was who interrupted us—with her laughter. It was the kind of laughter that humans did when they were trying to avoid crying; indeed, I could feel Sookie's near-hysteria through our bond.

Alcide, Bill, and I all looked at her.

"**I'm sorry,"** she said, trying to compose herself. **"I just keep thinking that if I make the right choice, all this madness will end and my life will go back to normal. But it's not gonna end, is it? This—is **_**it**_**,"** she commented almost hopelessly. **"It's not gonna change. We say goodbye, and—the next thing—you guys are back in my house, and a 3,000-year-old vampire wants to suck my blood."** She stood up. **"Must be Thursday!"** she added with a flourish.

I couldn't remember feeling so equally amused, aroused, and angry all at the same time. The right choice? That choice was right in-fucking-front of her! It wasn't as if I was easily 'missed'—given my 6'4" frame! And "normal?" Was she fucking kidding me? She was anything but _normal_. And—to me—that was a good thing. I sighed, knowing that Sookie would never be at peace with herself until she embraced _both_ sides of herself. But she was continuously trying to put Fairy Sookie back in the fucking bottle!

Of course, paradoxically, it was Fairy Sookie who created the resilience in my bonded. Fairy Sookie had brought her to her feet. Fairy Sookie had laughed instead of cried. Fairy Sookie had stamped down the hopelessness and replaced it with resolution.

Both Sookies were amazing—_to me_.

"**Well, come on,"** she beckoned. **"What are y'all waitin' for? Let's go hunt Russell! Onwards into the jaws of death! Boot and rally!"**

God, I loved her. Only Sookie Stackhouse would refer to a poem by Tennyson and a song about drunken vomiting in a single breath.

As she stepped through the broken glass of the door, "thanking" Tara on the way, my amusement turned to concern. Her references were both apt. The idiom "boot and rally" literally meant to "vomit" and then to carry on—though it usually referred to a continuation of some kind of partying. Not surprisingly, I'd been forced to listen to drunken humans singing Iggy Pop's "Let's Boot and Rally" many a time at Fangtasia.

However, Sookie's literary reference was just as apropos—maybe even more so. Tennyson had written his poem about the six hundred or so Light Brigade members who had fought nobly during the Battle of Balaclava—despite immeasurable odds against them. I recalled some of the more famous lines from the poem:

_'Forward, the Light Brigade!'_

_Was there a man dismay'd ?_

_Not tho' the soldier knew_

_Someone had blunder'd:_

_Theirs not to make reply,_

_Theirs not to reason why,_

_Theirs but to do & die,_

_Into the valley of Death_

_Rode the six hundred. _

Despite being ordered to fight because of a "blunder" by one of their superiors, the Light Brigade had not questioned their orders. They'd marched into battle and had fought as valiantly as possible—by all accounts. Tennyson had written the poem mainly to celebrate the unquestioning soldiers—who didn't "reason why," even though they knew there was a strong chance that they would "do and die."

I had mixed feelings as I thought about the poem's connection to my current situation. In many ways, I was in a similar situation as the soldiers in the poem. Though I _did_ "reason why," I _had to_ "do" and would probably "die."

I had no choice.

I just hoped that I wasn't following a "blundering" leader, and I wasn't just talking about Bill either. If the Guardian's chancellery had been infiltrated, was he still worthy of being followed? Oh—I wasn't about to become a Sanguinista! But I also didn't want to stay on a sinking ship.

I might have to "do" and/or "die," but I wouldn't be going into the "jaws of death" without putting up a fight!

I stood and followed Sookie through the broken door.

Boot and rally—indeed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay-I have to say that I loved writing the "extended scene" you find in this chapter! Writing a drunken Sookie and an amused Eric kept me chuckling. Of course, the part we saw on the show is in bold, as always. But I really wanted to develop this already pretty poignant and funny scene. Hope you liked it!**

**Cheers, **

**Kat**


	26. Chapter 26: Her Way

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26: Her Way<strong>

Concern and practicality mixed inside of me.

Was I concerned that Bill had decided to bring Sookie into the mix? Yes.

Yet would she be helpful to us in finding Russell Edgington? Knowing her? Absolutely.

Did I want to be far, _far_ away from her as long as I was being staked out—quite literally—by an iStake? Yup.

But was I happy to have her near? Definitely.

For the first time in days, the bond between Sookie and me wasn't pulling on me—or on her. It was settled. _She_ felt more settled. _I _felt more settled.

Yet, paradoxically, being near her was unsettling too, for I could feel that a large part of her didn't want to be near me.

By contrast, I felt her higher level of comfort with the Were.

I felt her affection for Bill—though she tried to push that down.

For me, she felt both more and less. When she glanced my way, I felt her longing. It felt like she was _missing_ me, even as she was looking at me. That was because she was missing the "me" from before—the "me" who'd not remembered himself. _That_ Eric had been the one she'd bonded herself to.

I felt my sorrow acutely over that revelation as Alcide introduced Sookie to Doug, who turned out to be rather greasy looking. _And smelly_. Clearly, Doug lived on the premises of the facility. I'd seen him many times in the video footage. And, _clearly_, he didn't feel the need to bathe very often.

Still, Sookie reached out to shake his hand as if she were meeting him at a church picnic. That was just her way.

And "her way" made me long for her even more.

I felt my hand elevate, and I took a step toward her, but then I consciously stopped all of my limbs from seeking her—especially the appendage in my pants. Just being near her had been enough to cause me to be at "half-mast" throughout the night. But being fully aroused in Doug's smelly little "bedroom/office?" No—that _wouldn't_ do at all!

To make sure that didn't happen, I looked back at the hairy man as he asked what he could do for us.

Was that spittle in the corner of his mouth? Gross.

Despite that sight, my efforts to stop my dick from taking a look around were undermined when Sookie asked half-apologetically and half-matter-of-factly if she could read Doug's thoughts. From her tone, one would think she was simply asking to borrow a cup of sugar.

Before Doug could think to ask what the hell she meant, he had nodded in agreement, and she'd grabbed his hand to do her "thing."

Of course, Doug had agreed! Who wouldn't? She'd managed to charm him _and_ disarm him all at once. She was good at that.

It was just her way.

"Well?" she asked, looked at Bill with impatience. "What do you want to ask him?"

"As I told you before, we need to know about the night that Russell disappeared," Bill said.

"He doesn't know anything about _Russell_!" she said, rolling her eyes. "Geez! That's not the way to get his memories to where we need them," she critiqued.

I smirked. Yep it was gonna be hard not to get _hard_ around her when she was in "Fairy Sookie" mode.

"Doug," I said, snapping to draw the man's attention away from Sookie's breasts. Yep, one look from him, and my erection stalled. Excellent.

"Do you remember the night you discovered that the concrete had been damaged?" I asked him.

"Um—I guess. Sort of," he responded, looking a little ashamed. "I—uh—was taking my break. And I must have fallen asleep 'cause I didn't hear nothin' happening. I—uh—woke up here and decided to take a walk around the premises to wake myself up. That's when I saw that the cement had been damaged."

"You have cameras here?" Bill asked.

"Yep—I checked them first thing, but I—uh—must have done somethin' wrong 'cause I erased the feeds for that whole night. Accidentally. That's when I called Alcide."

"Well?" Bill asked Sookie.

She glared at the king a little. "Well what? Doug believes what he's sayin'. He thinks that he's the one who messed up, and he's worried that Alcide will fire him for it."

"No one's gettin' fired," the wolf assured his employee. One had to question Alcide's choice of employees, but perhaps Doug had hidden qualities. I looked back at him.

_Underneath_ the surface.

"Did you see anyone that night? Anyone at all?" I asked him.

Doug seemed to squint. "Uh—I don't think so. Maybe. Wait—what night again?"

Sookie nodded at me. "Bingo. He's definitely been glamoured," she informed.

"What?" Doug asked. "No—I'd have remembered seein' a vamper."

"Can you get through the glamour?" I asked, not knowing what I wanted her answer to be.

"Yeah—I think so," she replied, almost incredulously. I was feeling her self-doubt and her pride battling in that moment.

As for myself—it was difficult for me not to be more and more impressed by her skills. I hoped that one day she would embrace them.

I nodded at her and gave her a subtle smile of confidence. "Then do your thing. This is your show, Miss Stackhouse."

She gave me a tiny smile back before her lips straightened with determination. Could she see in my eyes that I believed in her? I hoped so.

"**What do you remember about that night?"** she asked Doug.

"**Nothing—I swear,"** he said insistently. **"I was taking my break, like always . . . ."**

"**Somebody's coming up to him,"** Sookie interrupted, obviously using her gift to seep through the glamour.

Magnificent.

"**What do they look like?"** Bill asked.

"**It's blurry. I can't make it out,"** Sookie responded, even as I felt her determination and concentration through our fledgling bond. And then I felt revelation. **"It's a woman,"** she said with a mixture of surprise and certainty.

Bill looked at me significantly. It was the kind of look that said, "Gotcha!"

Asshole.

I decided that the 'bromance' was now officially over! Oh—Bill was justified in being suspicious of Nora. After all, evidence was evidence. And I was fucking suspicious too! But he wasn't justified in looking so fucking triumphant about the possibility that Nora had betrayed us—_me_.

"**She's digging Russell up with her hands,"** Sookie said, still reading Doug's mind as the smelly man looked more and more freaked out—and frightened.

"**Wait. She has a necklace. A pendant—like a spider. Or a bat?"** Sookie relayed uncertainly, even as she was obviously still trying to decipher the image she was getting from Doug's brain.

Bill turned to me, his eyes angry, though the twinge of triumph hadn't left them. ** "A female member of the Authority released Russell. Did you tell Nora that we buried Russell alive?" **he accused.

"**No,"** I said evenly, trying to maintain my calm. It wouldn't do to conflate the situation—not when we needed to continue getting information from Doug.

**"I don't believe you!"** Bill charged.

Yep—bromance _definitely_ over.

**"Well, I'm sorry to hear that,"** I said, still keeping my cool, though I was getting more and more pissed off.

**"You said you and Nora share everything,"** Bill 'reminded'.

I'd never said that. I'd told him that Nora and I had shared much over the years. But it wasn't the time to remind him of semantics.

**"Not that,"** I responded instead.

"**You couldn't keep your mouth shut and now she's using Russell against us!"** Bill indicted angrily.

Fuckwit!

"**That's absurd,"** I responded, my tone steely. In truth, I wanted to rip off his fucking head in that moment! Not only was he accusing me of lying and helping a fanatic, but also he was accusing me was being stupid! As if. I continued, **"Nora risked her life to free me. And you, too," **I reminded.

Bill walked past me, his eyes full of victory. I intuited that a big part of him _wanted_ to prove that I was the bad guy—especially in front of Sookie. Gods know, he'd always tried to make me out to be the villain in her eyes.

He'd assigned himself my prosecutor from the very first time he'd come into Fangtasia with Sookie. According to him, I was dangerous and violent. I was one of the "bad" vampires, while Bill painted himself as "good" because he pretended to hate his nature.

Indeed, he'd hated it so much that the first time I'd see him he'd been draining one of Pam's girls at her brothel! In 1905! The Civil War had ended in 1865! That's 45 years to have gained some fucking civility! Gods know, I'd had control as a forty-year-old. No doubt, Lorena had been influencing Bill, but I'd seen no resistance or angst in his eyes regarding his actions.

I couldn't help but to wonder where the fuck Bill got off in judging me! He'd never seen nor heard of me participating in slaughter against innocents.

Because I never had!

That was Bill's fucking department!

Still—I did consider some of Bill's words. Though I'd not told Nora about Russell, she could very well be the vampiress in Doug's mind.

In that moment, my eyes caught Sookie's. They were such an enigma: bright as the sun and brown as the earth.

Suspicious and caring.

She was looking at me as if I might very well be the villain. She was looking at me as if she didn't want me to be. And, paradoxically, her eyes held trust.

And her feelings—slingshotting through our bond erratically—were just as hard to read as her eyes were.

Still, she grounded me—helped me to stay calm.

"What's Bill talking about? Who's Nora?" she asked me.

"Godric's second child. My vampire sister," I said honestly.

"Godric had another—uh—kid?" Sookie asked.

"Yes. She was a Chancellor in the Authority," I informed, having no reason to protect Nora's secrets anymore. "Bill believes that she's working with a group of fanatic vampires who want to treat humans like animals. He believes her to be the woman in Doug's memories."

"Do you think she is?" she asked, her eyes showing compassion for me.

As much as her feelings might have been mixed regarding me, I could tell that she still cared for me deeply.

It was her way.

"I don't know," I sighed. "I hope not. But, if it is her, I do not think she is working alone."

Sookie nodded, even as Alcide grunted in impatience. "We don't need to hear about your dysfunctional family, Northman. Let's get this show on the road!"

Sookie gave the Were a disapproving look—which he totally missed—and then turned back to Doug. "What did the woman do?" she asked him.

She closed her eyes and then opened them in shock. She looked at me as if seeking guidance. I nodded in support.

Sookie took a deep breath. "She asked Doug to carry Russell out of there. I can see Russell in his thoughts!" Her nose screwed up in distaste. "He looked awful!"

"Yes—he would have been very weak," I confirmed.

"I think I can figure out where they went," Sookie informed, her eyes shutting tightly again. "I can see Doug walking—following the female vampire."

I nodded. "Lead the way, Sookie."

She gave me a smile and did just that.

It was her way.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It was odd to me just how little Eric and Sookie were interacting, despite the fact that they were in scenes together. I felt that, even then, we were getting Bill shoved down our faces as he seemed to be taking the lead. I wanted to extend this scene to show more Sookie and Eric interaction. I think it fits their personalities, and I hope you agree.**

**Best,**

**Kat**


	27. Ch 27: Scooby Doo & the Haunted Hospital

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27: Scooby Doo &amp; the Haunted Hospital<strong>

When Sookie, Alcide, Doug, and I left the garage, we found Bill skulking near Alcide's van, which I'd mentally dubbed the "Mystery Mobile." God knows, there was something about the whole situation that screamed _Scooby Doo_ to me.

Pamela had first heard of that animated television program in the 1970's from one of her human "friends." She began recording the series on Betamax in the early 80s. She gained much amusement from the episodes, and I will admit that I was entertained by the cartoon too—despite the predictability of each "mystery."

Every episode followed the same basic plot. A dog and four amateur teenaged sleuths—emphasis on the "amateur"—would attempt to solve cases involving the supernatural. The stories _seemingly_ revolved around ghosts and goblins and zombies—or even vampires and werewolves sometimes. However—_always_—the supernatural was found to be very "natural" as the culprits ended up being humans in disguise.

Of course, the solving of the crimes was never easy for the group! Though Fred, the _de facto_ leader of the group, would often set up elaborate traps to capture the culprits, the bumbling Shaggy and the always-frightened Scooby Doo would fuck things up. "Danger-prone Daphne" and "the brain" of the group, Velma, completed the membership of "Mystery Incorporated"—until Scrappy Doo, an annoying, yippy little dog was added to the group.

No matter how many times we watched the show, Pam would always yell—"I knew it!"—whenever the culprit was unmasked. In my opinion, it wasn't hard to guess the true villain. If there was an older man in the episode—he was it. Youth trumped aged almost every time.

As Pam celebrated her correct guesses, I would always think about how scarily accurate _Scooby Doo_ was in certain ways. Supernaturals had often covered up their "crimes" by glamouring humans to take the fall. Hell—I wouldn't even be surprised to learn that many Supes had crafted elaborate costumes for their human scapegoats over the years, just so that entertaining "un-masking" moments could occur.

God knows Pam had done so on occasion.

As Alcide's vehicle rumbled over a particularly rough spot in the road, I rolled my eyes. "_Definitely_ the Mystery Mobile," I mumbled.

"What was that?" Bill asked. He'd been half-sulking and half-glaring at me since we'd left the parking garage. I was pissed at being relegated to the back of the truck, but Scooby Doo—whom I'd cast as Alcide—was driving the truck. And he'd insisted that there was room for only Sookie and Doug in the front with him.

So what if the dog was right about that! I was still pissed that I had to endure Bill. I was even more pissed that I had to overhear the conversation between Sookie and Alcide. Apparently, Alcide didn't want to talk about how she'd puked on his shoes.

I sort of wanted to hear more about that!

Bill finally spoke as the van made a sharp left turn, which jostled us both. Stupid dog drivers.

**"What if Nora orchestrated this whole thing? She pretended to save us so she could send us to Russell?"** Bill asked.

I didn't need this shit! Not now!

"**And why would she do that?"** I asked.

"**Russell could be a powerful ally to her cause—though he'd never agree to do it for free."** His voice got louder. **"But if she were to serve the two of us up to him, then she'd be in a position to negotiate with him!"**

"**Yeah, well, that's not what she did. She tried to get us out of the country,"** I reminded. Gods—Bill really was stupid. Even if Nora would betray me—which I was convinced she wouldn't, no matter what "cause" she might have joined—she hadn't learned about Russell from me! Moreover, I was still convinced that she was trying to get us out of the country.

And, even if she had known about Russell from a Sanguinista confederate, my bet was that she had been trying to get me out of my three-thousand-year-old enemy's way.

**"Well, that's what she **_**said**_** she was doing,"** Bill commented acerbically.

Wasn't he the one who seemed to be flirting with her just a few nights before?

**"You're just being paranoid,"** I said.

"**Then why is she still alive?"** Bill asked.

Wasn't that obvious? There was still a Sanguinista in Roman's group—someone with enough clout to convince Roman that Nora had continued use.

I lied when I responded. **"I don't know, Bill."** I wasn't going to help him if he couldn't figure out that much!

"**She's a traitor and a liar just like her brother,"** Bill said in an inflammatory tone.

My fangs came down immediately, followed quickly by his.

"**Take that back," **I seethed. I'd had enough of Bill-fucking-Compton accusing me of being a liar, and it was going to stop. NOW!

His phone rang—the phone he'd been given by the Guardian.

Fuck! Okay—perhaps, now was _not_ the time to tear out Bill's vocal cords, after all.

Pity.

We both put our fangs away.

"**Hello?"** Bill answered.

"**Hey, guys,"** came iStake Molly's airy voice. **"It's Molly. Remember me? Just giving you a shout-out to let you know that your countdown has started."**

I listened to the techy explain how Bill and I had only until dawn to find Russell.

'Bummer.'

Bill tried to deny the statement, but Molly alerted us to a test of our iStakes. They were glowing. _And_ beeping.

'Bummer' indeed.

"**Yeah—they're glowing,"** Bill confirmed.

"**Cool,"** Molly said brightly. **"That means we're good to go. Good luck. And if you don't make it, it's been rad serving you. Peace out." **She hung up.

I couldn't help myself. Despite the fact that Molly was the harbinger of doom, I still liked her.

Bill hung up. **"We don't have much time."**

I tried to hold in my snarky comment. I swear that I did! However, I failed. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," I muttered.

He glared at me, and I thought we were going to pick up our previous confrontation until the vehicle jarred to a stop.

Fucking dog drivers!

Bill and I exited. I was glad to be out of the confined space. And Bill was lucky to get out before I decided to snap his fucking neck!

I looked up and barely held in my smirk. The huge building looming before us looked like a set-piece from a live-action version of _Scooby Doo_.

Sookie was holding Doug's hand, obviously still recovering his memories.

"**They took Russell inside,"** she said.

"**We don't have much time,"** said the broken record that was Bill. **"We should split up. I'll take the north wing, and you take the south," **he told me.

"**Even at full speed, it's a lot of ground to cover,"** I said skeptically. I knew it would be better if Sookie continued to be _Sookie_.

Bill had other ideas. He spoke to Sookie in that patronizing tone he had. **"Sookie, we'd like to thank you for getting us this far, but Eric and I will take it from here. You can stay outside with Doug and Alcide."**

"Yeah, right," I thought.

"**Yeah, right,"** she said.

Gods—I loved her. She wasn't some dainty flower. She had a warrior's heart, and she was a warrior's dream. My dream. Moreover, she was probably the only chance we had at finding Russell. Of course, that didn't stop me from poking the bear. I did so love to rile her.

"**We don't have time to worry about you," **I said, barely holding in my smirk. For the moment, I was glad she had no idea what I was feeling, or she would have felt my mirth.

"**First of all,"** she started, obviously wound up, **"I've seen enough horror movies to know you don't split up when you're in a big, scary asylum and there's a crazed killer on the loose."**

She was right about that. _Scooby Doo_ taught the same lesson.

"**Second," **she went on, just getting revved up, **"I think it's fair to say that my microwave fingers and the sun are about the only things around here that seem to have any effect on Russell, so the way I see it, it's **_**me**_** protecting **_**you**_** from **_**him**_**, instead of the other way around."**

Was it wrong that I was fully erect now?

"**Third, I got a headache and I gotta pee something fierce, so I'd just as soon get this over with."** She turned and stomped off toward the 'haunted hospital.'

Bill scowled, but Alcide seemed to appreciate Sookie's performance too. He chuckled as he followed her, calling Doug as he went.

Doug, whom I had already dubbed as Shaggy—given his perpetually terrified look—followed Scooby.

Of course, I followed too.

* * *

><p>As Sookie led us through the hallways of the abandoned hospital, holding a flashlight in one hand and Doug's hand in her other, I decided that she was <em>both<em> Velma _and_ Daphne. After all, there were two Sookie Stackhouses. Though she couldn't be classified as a nerd, she was definitely clever, and she got herself out of more problems than anyone I had ever known. On the other hand, she was most certainly eye candy. And she was definitely a danger magnet.

So she was Daphne, too.

That left me trying to figure out Bill's role. Obviously, I was Fred: good looking, blond, and—ultimately—the man in charge.

Bill clearly wanted to be a "Fred." But his standard constipated look and his frequent douchy comments disqualified him from that role in my opinion.

Was it possible to have two Shaggies? After all, Bill and Shaggy had some undeniable similarities. Bad hair. Bouts of cluelessness. Inability to correctly pronounce simple words—like "Sookie." Hell—they even sort of looked alike!

Alcide inhaled deeply. ** "Wolves have been here."**

"**They come with Russell,"** Bill said in a douchy tone.

I sighed. Shaggy wasn't douchy, so that sort of hurt my casting. And I also had to admit that Bill wasn't a coward.

I'd have to keep working on the analogy. Meanwhile, I turned my attention to Doug, who was whimpering. And sweating profusely.

"**I don't like this,"** the man said. I wondered who would.

Sookie was obviously still reading his memories. She grunted, and her knees buckled a little. I held in my chuckle. Through our bond, I knew that she wasn't particularly taxed from using her gift. Nope. Her stomach had turned—not because of what she was "reading," but because of what she'd drunk earlier.

"**You okay?"** Bill asked, his concern thick in his tone—so thick that it sounded fake.

"**Yeah,"** Sookie said with irritation. **"Remind me to avoid peach schnapps in the future."**

I grinned as Bill looked a little confused.

"**Turn left,"** Sookie instructed, and then she led us into a large room—definitely something out of a _Scooby Doo_ episode!

Doug was rattling on and on about New York City—and about how he'd regret it if he couldn't go there.

He was annoying me, but—then again—Shaggy always did. **"New York City smells like pee and the people are rude,"** I intoned. Of course, Doug would fit right in when it came to the scent.

Doug gasped almost comically as there was a clattering in the distance. _Definitely_ Shaggy. And definitely annoying!

A rat ran in front of us, and Sookie—after jumping a little, but not nearly as much as Doug—followed the rodent with her flashlight, only to find it and a couple of its friends snacking on a severed hand.

Not surprisingly, Shaggy—I mean Doug—started crying.

"**Oh my God!" **Sookie gasped.

"**It's okay, Doug. It's okay,"** Scooby comforted Shaggy.

Led on by Sookie—yep, my fucking warrior—we kept going.

Okay—so maybe she wasn't mine. But she felt like she was in that moment. She was brave. And—better yet—I could feel her curiosity.

She wanted to solve the fucking mystery as much as I did!

When we came to a pile of corpses with rats all over them, she was—indeed—freaked out a bit, but her curiosity held. And her courage.

"**Good Lord in heaven!"** she said.

I'd always wondered why humans said such horribly inappropriate things when confronted with true horrors. There was nothing "good" or "heavenly" about the sight, and it certainly wasn't from the Lord she was referring to. I made a note to ask Sookie about such sayings one day.

Hopefully, I'd get the chance.

Meanwhile, Shaggy was wailing, **"No, no, no, no, no,"** in a staccato loop.

"**Seems like we're in the right place,"** I remarked.

In typical Sookie fashion, she looked up at me before rolling her eyes.

"Obviously," she intoned, before leading us down another corridor.

I could hear water dripping, and the smell of live humans got stronger.

"**This way,"** Sookie said, practically pulling Shaggy with her now.

"**The morgue. How convenient," **Bill intoned as we passed by the sign indicating that area.

Convenient—yes. It would be light-tight and cool—even without power to the building.

Doug's loud panting made me wonder if I should have assigned him the role of Scooby. But then—as we heard a noise down the hall—I was reminded of why Alcide _had_ to be the dog.

He growled. **"We're being watched,"** the Were said.

I shook my head a little even as my fangs slid down. Of course, we were!

Shaggy yelled something about **"shitcakes" **and then took off running down the hall—_toward_ the "scary sound."

I sighed. Shaggy indeed.

Sookie ran after the man, yelling his 'real' name. After checking to make sure that those who were watching were not following, I trailed after her, only to find her in a kind of "human cooler."

More than a dozen humans—all in straightjackets—were hanging from meat hooks—like sides of beef.

How quaint. Sanguinista through and through.

Doug's screams threatened to wake up all the humans in the cooler, so I covered his mouth with my hand. A disgusting job, but someone had to do it.

As the only coherent human on the hooks begged us to take another—since he'd recently been on a diet and all—I enjoyed feeling the curiosity still reigning inside of my bonded. Oh—she was disgusted _and_ horrified. But neither her courage nor her curiosity had waned a bit!

**"Fatties first,"** the hanged-up man beseeched. How—altruistic.

"**Where do they take the prisoners?"** Bill asked.

"**Down the hallway. There's screaming and then there's not,"** he added.

Yes—that would explain the piles of corpses down the hall.

I had counted seven drained humans in that little room. That would mean that Russell would be well on his way to recovery, but it would have been impossible for him to regenerate fully—despite the fact that he was apparently gorging himself.

"**I'm not going. I'm staying here,"** Shaggy proclaimed.

I wasn't going to argue with the annoying man. He'd served his purpose.

As the man on the hook begged us to let him down, offering money, Bill made an annoying noise to quiet him.

I left the room. There might be a time to free the hung-up humans, but they couldn't be our priority. Unlike Sookie, they really _would_ be in the way.

I could hear Bill ask Sookie if she was ready, but I didn't need to hear her response. I felt it. Courage and curiosity—a glorious fucking combination.

Scrappy! _That's_ who Bill could be in the _Scooby Doo_ episode in my mind.

Annoying. Check.

Yappy. Check.

Ultimately unnecessary. Check.

Bringing down the quality of the "show?" Check. Check.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, this was one of my favorite chapters to ever write! I had so much fun thinking about the scene on the show as a _Scooby Doo_ episode. If you re-watch it, I dare you not to laugh, especially at Doug's faces. TOO FUNNY! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. And-I really could see Eric thinking something like this. LOL. **

**Until the next time,**

**Kat **


	28. Chapter 28: No Damsel in Distress

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in _True Blood_ or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement nor offense is meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I wanted them to do for a while. I am especially "unownerly" when it comes to this story. You will recognize a lot of the dialogue throughout as being quoted from Season 5 of _True Blood_, though I've tried to use Eric's thoughts to make this story "different" from its source. That said, I claim no ownership to the quoted material and have placed it in bold so that it is set apart from my own words.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28: No Damsel in Distress<strong>

Now that I knew we were close to Russell, I led—not just because I was anxious to get to him, but also because I wanted to make sure that my bonded remained safe. Yes—she was brave. Yes—she was, as she'd intimated before, "protecting" us with her "microwave fingers." But I didn't fucking care! In an equation that contained Russell Edgington, I would always try to stand between him and Sookie.

That didn't have anything to do with some masculine, chauvinistic bullshit. That was Bill's department. I didn't think Sookie was weaker than I was; in fact, I knew she was not! My protective impulse had only one motive: I loved her.

Russell's unique scent was covered up by all the blood he'd taken recently, so I didn't pick it up until I walked into the room where he lay. He looked better than I'd hoped, but still worse than I'd feared.

**"Took you long enough,"** Russell said in his fake Southern accent. Only Bill's "real" one annoyed me more. ** "What an infernal racket you people have been making!" **

Scooby-fucking-Doo.

He inhaled deeply. **"Oh. Miss Stackhouse. Always a pleasure. To what do I owe?"** he asked flippantly, gesturing for her to come nearer.

Over my un-dead body!

My spitfire spit: **"Fuck you, you psychotic piece of shit."**

Okay—maybe she wasn't mine.

I stepped forward.

"**Hello, old friend,"** I greeted. **"Do you remember me?"**

Do you remember the people in my village?

Do you remember my baby sister?

Do you remember my mother?

Do you remember my father?

Do you remember the young Viking who was too afraid—or too wise—to follow you into the night?

"**We've come to finish what we started,"** I said.

In that moment, I didn't know who that 'we' was.

Bill and me? We'd put him into the cement.

Sookie and me? We'd been the reason he'd gone into the sun.

My father and me? The originator of a quest of vengeance and its agent?

Or maybe the two "me's." The Viking and the vampire.

Or maybe the "other" two me's: the hopeful, amnesiac vampire, whom Sookie had fallen in love with, and the hard, jaded sheriff, who had survived a millennium.

Whoever was speaking to Russell, I was triumphant. My enemy was prone because of my actions—direct or not. He was stronger than I, but the cement I'd placed him in had rendered him weaker.

I was tired—tired of knowing that Russell was alive. I wanted him gone—_finally_. Godric could argue for mercy all he wanted. He could tell me that revenge would gut me. But maybe—just maybe—a little justice could heal me. Russell _was_ bad, after all.

Granted, perhaps all vampires were "bad." We drank blood. We dwelt in the night. The sun hated us enough to burn us.

However, Russell was a sadistic son of a bitch. Evil to the core. For at least a thousand years, he'd been terrorizing and murdering—for nothing more than "trinkets."

And because he liked it.

Yes—I was tired.

Tired of letting Russell stay alive. Godric had told me that peace awaited those who ventured to the afterlife, so I'd made sure that the slayer of my family stayed alive. However, I no longer cared who took hold of my enemy when he died. If the Christian god or my gods or any other god or gods took dominion over him, I was counting on him or her or them to show Russell what true hell entailed.

And—if Godric had been right? If only forgiveness awaited Russell?

Then—fuck it! Let him have his forgiveness in the afterlife. At least, he'd be out of my hair!

And no longer a threat to my bonded.

Yes—some things were more important than revenge.

Russell looked up at me with a half-sneer and half-smirk.

"**Well, as my great love Talbot used to say when we were buck hunting,"** he said, responding to my previous comment, **"give it your best shot."**

As he snarled, all hell broke loose.

Growls came from behind me, and I turned around quickly.

Wolves.

Herveaux fell to the ground with a thud, and in the next second, he was being dragged out of the room by the leg. Even as I was wondering why the fuck he didn't just shift, Sookie ran off after him, yelling his name.

Bill and I both knew that wolves were rarely alone, so we went to follow her; however, we soon had Weres of our own to deal with. They'd been hiding in the drawers that had once held bodies.

The wolf that engaged me was strong and obviously high on V, so it took me ninety seconds to get an advantage.

However, those seconds almost cost me everything.

* * *

><p><strong>NINETY SECONDS EARLIER<strong>

Time was a funny thing.

During my centuries as a vampire, my mind had become efficient—practiced.

However, my body hadn't changed in any significant way. In fact, only two things could change about a vampire's appearance—our hair and our nails. Like us, these things were "dead" in a way. Maybe that's why they grew—though slowly.

Simply becoming a vampire seemed to slow the world down. From my very first moments as a vampire, I could, for example, see in great detail. I could—and automatically did—analyze each slight movement that took place around me.

However, learning to react to those movements in the most proficient way had taken time—and experience. And guidance from my maker.

The difficulty in dealing with V-addled Weres was that they had very little logic to their movements, and that made it almost impossible to anticipate what they would do next.

But getting an advantage was only a matter of time.

In English, there is an overused idiom: "Time is on your side."

Sadly, time was not on my team in that moment. As Alcide was dragged away, proving to be pretty much useless, Bill and I were occupied by Russell's other furry friends. We, too, were proving to be useless—to Sookie.

Even as I concentrated on my fight, I heard another confrontation begin—one that chilled my dead heart. Russell, it seemed, was not as weak as advertised.

I heard his sickening voice, even as I felt Sookie's emotions turn to real fear for the first time that night.

I was feeling it too.

"**Mmm,"** Russell sounded as if smelling a delectable meal. **"You're just what the doctor ordered, my twee fairy vixen."**

In that moment—that millisecond of time—there was a choice to be made. My well-practiced mind flew through my options. I could go to my bonded, leaving my own fight. I could be the knight in shining armor, coming in to rescue the damsel in distress.

Or—I could trust my bonded to fight on her own. I could trust that, though in distress, she was not some kind of helpless damsel.

I could trust _her_. I would.

Even if I would have had a million seconds to decided, my choice would have always been the same. I fought my opponent, and I let Sookie fight hers.

I heard Russell's fangs click and then a rapid, hungry snarl.

And then I felt the most beautiful feeling in the world: a surge of electrical energy.

And I heard the most beautiful sounds: a buzz of energy being released and a body thudding against a wall. Russell's groans of pain completed the melody.

Sookie might not be able to sing for shit; being in her home when she'd sung in the shower had taught me that much. However, she could conduct one hell of a tune!

A clearly hurting Russell let out a sick laugh. **"There is that aspect of you which I loathe," **he said, right as I gained the advantage over my own opponent. I snapped the Were's neck, and—not to be outdone by my magnificent bonded—I threw his body against the wall.

Sookie's fear had abated with the exhilaration of her fight, so I moved to Russell. Obviously still suffering from the effects of Sookie's blast, he was leaning against the wall he'd hit, his body slack.

I bent down. **"Look at me,"** I seethed.

Russell groaned, but did as I bade.

"**I wanna be the last thing you ever see,"** I said, poising the stake that had been in my pocket over his black heart.

I felt doubly triumphant. I was happy that I would finally be rid of Russell. And I also felt a blast of triumph—and relief—from my bonded.

I heard a yelp as Bill defeated his own foe. And then I felt surprise from Sookie—and a fucking stake point against my back, poised to find my own dead heart.

Dammit, Scrappy!

I could sense Sookie's surprise at Bill's actions—and her anxiety for me. I almost smiled at the small victory.

Bill interrupted my enjoyment of Sookie's concern.

Again! Dammit, Scrappy!

"**He dies—we die. Most certainly. But if we take him back alive, maybe we don't have to die,"** Bill said.

"**Unlikely,"** I said through clenched teeth. Bill was really starting to piss me off!

"**But not impossible,"** Bill reasoned, even as he took the stake away from my body and kneeled down next to me and Russell.

"**Maybe you're ready to die? Maybe you're just bored after a thousand years. But you do not make that decision for me,"** Bill lectured.

Asshole.

As a flash of Godric on the rooftop entered my mind, I thought about a vampire who'd been ready to die. I did not wish for death, as my maker had. And I certainly wasn't bored! I'd been enlivened by Sookie's presence in my life. The truth was that the Authority had sent us to deal with Russell. We'd not been asked to bring him alive, but I could see the potential benefit of doing so. The Guardian loved ritual. And he'd likely enjoy torturing Russell himself.

Thus, he might—indeed—become distracted from any punishment he still wanted to give to Bill and me.

So for myself and for my bonded and even for Scrappy-fucking-Doo, I put my fangs away.

Russell looked smug.

So did Bill for a moment.

Assholes—the both of them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know this chapter is short, but I wanted it to stand separate since it's finally the moment when Eric could kill Russell. But the Viking has, indeed, learned that some things are more important than revenge, which-ironically-is why he lets Russell live. Once upon a time, Eric was willing to die (along with Russell) in order to get his revenge. Sookie just happened to save him that time. Here we see Eric choosing life (and Sookie) over revenge. At least, that's how I'm choosing to read the moment. **

**I hope you liked the chapter.**

**Best,**

**Kat**


End file.
